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LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


BY 

MARY SHEPARDSON POMEROY 


** She loved much ” 



BOSTON 

SHERMAN, FRENCH & COMPANY 
1911 


Copyright, 1911 
Sherman, French Company 


TO 

MY MOTHER 


“ God Bless Them All ” 



CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I Janet MacDonaed .... 1 

II Their Chiedren IS 

III Concerning Carina Ducheyne . 19 

IV The “Hayseed” SS 

V A Man and A Woman . . . 

VI “What the Wored Said” . . 51 

VII The Crisis 62 

VIII The Battee On 72 

IX A Peace of Refuge .... 91 

X Mother and Son 114 

XI Another Turn of the Wheee . 124 
XII The Peay and A Luncheon . . 134 

XIII Aeone Again 155 

XIV New Joys and Oed Sorrows . . 174 

XV Leipzig Days 197 

XVI A Letter 215 

XVII My Father 236 

XVIII What Foeeowed 261 

XIX The MacDonaeds .... 283 


CHAPTER I 


JANET MACDONALD 

‘‘Oh, I say, Rina, there was a great laugh at 
the club to-day, a joke on you. We were talking 
about spirits, souls I mean, you know. You 
needn’t look so scornfully incredulous ; we often 
talk of such things. Why, one of the worst men 
I know is always trying to get some fellow into 
a comer on the immortality of the soul. Fact! 

“Somehow your name was mentioned, and 
Hartly said, ‘Oh, Carina DuCheyne hasn’t any 
soul, has she, Dick?’ and they all appealed to 
me. ‘If she has, it must be one of the kind of 
which they say a million can dance on the point 
of a needle,’ I answered. Good, eh?” 

The girl at Richard Corwin’s side drew her 
splendid head back quickly, as though she had 
been struck in the face. A quiver of pain shot 
across her mouth and eyes, then as quickly gave 
place to the customary expression of lazy in- 
difference, as she replied languidly: “That was 
certainly a very brilliant conversation; in fact 
most witty. You are to be congratulated, too, 
upon your fine courtesy to ladies. I did not 
know their names were bandied about in that 
way, even by such men as you.” 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


‘‘Now, look here, Rina, I suppose you hardly 
include yourself in that exclusive society, do you? 
We, at least, make sharper distinctions.” 

Again the sudden look of pain, which had in it 
something of astonishment, swept over the mobile 
face. 

“As for your ‘soul,’ I doubt if you even know 
what the word means, you great splendid animal ! 
Clothes, food, amusements, love, — life filled to the 
brim with rich, red love, — are all you know or 
care about” ; and the girl’s companion bent to- 
ward her suddenly and tried to kiss her. 

“Look what you are doing!” she cried sharply, 
her face grown white and tense with sudden fear. 

“Great Scott I what is the fool about ?” Cor- 
win exclaimed, with a quick, powerful turn of his 
wheel. 

They had been speeding along a fine country 
road, wholly absorbed in conversation. Now, 
just in front of them, was a large barn, and, as 
they whizzed up to it, a man drove out of a gate 
beyond. 

There was no time to check the great car in its 
onward movement. It veered to one side of the 
road under the driver’s skillful hand, but it was 
too late, the farmer had neither seen, nor heard 
them. For a moment the air was full of awful 
sounds, and then there was a more terrible si- 
lence. 

When Carina DuCheyne recovered conscious- 
ness, she found herself flung entirely over a low 


JANET MACDONALD 


stone wall into the meadow beyond. She looked 
about the road; she could see that the horses 
were still, and then that her companion seemed 
to be pinned down by the car, which had turned 
completely over. 

She tried to lift herself into a sitting position 
but fell back with a groan. When she moved, 
Corwin called out cheerily, 

“Hello! hurt, Rina? I’m all right, if only 
this blamed thing could be lifted a little.” 

A quiet voice from somewhere behind her said 
to the girl, “Lie still a few minutes, madam, and 
I will get help” ; but Carina, unused to helpless- 
ness, or to obedience to any will but her o^vn, 
made another effort to get up, and then again 
lost consciousness. When she came to herself 
once more, she was lying in a great canopied 
four-post bed, in a large, sunny room. There 
was no one in sight. She looked down in a con- 
fused, questioning way at her right arm, which 
was bound roughly to a board. Her head was 
aching terribly, and strange shooting pains 
darted up and down her back. Then the memory 
of the drive, and its sudden ending came back to 
her, and a hundred questions thronged through 
her mind. Where was she? Where was Rich- 
ard? and why had he left her here alone in a 
strange house, with no one even to answer her 
questions? She remembered his cheery call, and 
the other quiet voice in her ear^ — How had it all 
ended ? 


4 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


She had never been sick in bed in all her young 
life, but had always gloried in her power to out- 
dance, outwalk, and outdo her companions in any 
undertaking; had always scorned their obtrusive 
“backs,” “heads” and “nerves.” And now here 
she was, tied to a board, in dreadful pain. She 
did not understand, and simply would not bear it. 

She made another effort, in a sort of frantic 
panic, to throw off the clothes and spring to her 
feet in the old elastic way, only to sink back in 
a torture of pain. 

And it was all because a stupid clodhopper 
had not used his eyes and ears ! What did he 
suppose such organs were for, if not for use.? 
And Richard? She must know where he was and 
why he did not come to her. Perhaps his light- 
hearted call had just been to deceive her. Per- 
haps he was — she shuddered, and her eyes grew 
large with apprehension — he must be, or he would 
never have played such a trick on her as this ! 
She had half a mind to scream. Someone in this 
dreary place would surely hear then 1 

She fumed, and fretted, until about worn out, 
and then began to look around the room with a 
dull half-interest. It was certainly the whitest, 
cleanest place she had ever seen. The quaint old 
doors and mantel, the window seats, and the white 
inside shutters — such simple swiss curtains, and 
blue and white homemade rugs, too ! The pa- 
per had little silver lines in it and blue fringed 
gentians all up and down. And then those queer 


JANET MACDONALD 


5 


brass candlesticks, carefully arranged, at exact 
distances from each end of the white mantel ; and 
in the middle, between them, that wonderfully 
stiff, flat, white vase, with more wonderful, and 
even stiff er, dried grasses in it! 

She looked at them all again and again, half 
sneering, and half smiling, as her eyes roved rest- 
lessly about the room. The dried things, stiff as 
they were, somehow had a look as though they 
belonged there ; everything ‘‘belonged,” she de- 
cided at last. 

The sneer left her face, and a look of wonder 
and interest began to grow in its place. After 
all, they looked almost as though some artist’s 
hand had tried to put grace into their unbending 
lines I Those soft little woolly heads, how mod- 
estly they drooped! and the tall, slender, varie- 
gated grasses, who would have believed they could 
look so — so elegant There were queer old pic- 
ture frames — homely things — she decided ; but 
there again, someone who “knew” must have 
chosen the pictures in them ! 

Although Carina had never thought much 
about such things, she had seen this kind in art 
collections and museums. Blue and white dimity 
covered an old couch and rocking chair, and 
made even their age look immaculately fresh and 
dainty. The bed, too, was unlike anything she 
had ever seen before, with its great posts, each 
twisted in a marvelous way and ending in some 
monster’s head below, while the tail above held 


6 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


with perfect ease, apparently, a canopy of the 
same rich, dark wood, polished like a mirror. 
Then there was a wonderful, painted sky just 
above her, inside the massive rim, where astonish- 
ingly fat cherubs held garlands of impossible 
flowers. 

Her eyes dropped to the snowy spread, where 
rosettes were set into a background of garlands 
with great care and precision, and what seemed 
to the girl inconceivable patience. She was to 
learn later that this marvel had been made by the 
same crippled hands that hooked the blue and 
white rugs, in a frame over there by the window, 
as she sat week after week in the old rocking 
chair, waiting — the household saint, Hannah 
Wilmot. 'While she was living they called her 
room “The Chamber of Peace,” because no trou- 
bles or anxieties from the outside world, no un- 
kind thoughts or words, were ever brought into 
the hearing of the pure, white soul, waiting here 
in indescribable pain, but cheerfully and pa- 
tiently, for the call away from it all. A terrible 
sorrow, too, had burned into her heart like a red 
hot iron years before the proud head had bowed 
under it visibly or the hands become unfitted for 
life’s more arduous tasks. 

Carina DuCheyne had never come in contact 
with a life like that. She would not have glanced 
a second time at the refined, sensitive face, under 
ordinary circumstances, or have heard the mean- 
ing of the music in the low voice ; but, as she lay 


JANET MACDONALD 


7 


now in the sanctified room, something of its at- 
mosphere reached her consciousness, all untrained 
as it was to fine perceptions, and she said aloud, 
“But it is pretty.” 

Somewhere out of the stillness about her, like 
a flash, came the memory of her companion’s 
words on that fatal day: “As for your soul, I 
doubt if you even know what the word means.” 
She mused half idly : Souls ? Do people with 
souls live in rooms like this? Certainly none of 
the kind she knew did. They had walls, and mir- 
rors stuck full of gay, colored things, photo- 
graphs of actors and singers, ballet girls, horse 
races, posters and picture cards everywhere 
about ; all sorts of bric-a-brac, couches, lounging- 
chairs, cushions, hundreds of them, hangings, 
rugs; it was as much as one’s life was worth to 
get about in it all! 

Carina laughed aloud, despite her pain, at the 
thought of any of the girls she knew in this room. 
How unutterably stupid it all was 1 Wearisome 1 
What would Dick say to such a place? How he 
would laugh at the ridiculous incongruity of it, 
her — and this 1 

She looked at her hands, soft and white, the 
whole one still covered with her many costly rings. 
Someone must have made the things in the room, 
and worked hard to keep them all so. Yes, they 
were pretty and cool to look at ; and so clean and 
white 1 Probably someone was very proud of 
them. After all, what was the use in having so 


8 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


many “things” around, just to grow dingy and 
dusty and smelly with gas and tobacco and li- 
quor? There was everything one could possibly 
need here. Her eyes drooped wearily; the pain 
had lessened a little. It was a pleasant place — 
to sleep in; and there was — music somewhere, not 
noise. 

When she opened her great soft eyes again 
they looked into others that were blue bending 
over her, with kindness and sympathy in their 
cool depths. “You have had a long, long sleep ; 
don’t you feel a little hungry now?” It was a 
clear, pleasant voice. Carina looked again into 
the face above her, and then, for some reason 
she would have called absurd in other moods, put 
her good arm around the bending form and drew 
the smiling mouth down to her own. She did it 
for the same reason she had done things almost 
all of her life, just because she wanted to. 

And this was Carina DuCheyne’s first meeting 
with Janet MacDonald. They were as unlike as 
darkness and light, but they had met and kissed 
each other in “The Chamber of Peace,” and 
neither would ever be able to forget. 

Richard Corwin gathered himself together 
when strong farmers lifted the heavy car into the 
road, stretched his limbs with a sense of satis- 
faction that all parts of his anatomy worked to- 
gether and obeyed his will as usual. 

A slight feeling of numbness quickly passed off 


JANET MACDONALD 


9 


as he helped the men carry the unconscious girl 
into the comfortable-looking white house, where a 
strong, capable woman, evidently the mistress, 
who had made ready to receive her, and stood 
waiting with an anxious but hospitable face, led 
the way up a broad stair without words. 

Two breaks in the left arm, a sprained ankle, 
and a bad shake-up generally seemed to be the 
sum of Carina’s injuries. 

Mrs. MacDonald urged so strongly that she 
should stay quietly there, where she could have 
plenty of fresh air and sunshine, that Richard 
Corwin gladly consented. 

It was an easy solution of a disagreeable, tire- 
some situation. He hated scenes and trouble of 
any kind. Rina was evidently in good hands ; so 
he could wash his own of her, with a tolerably 
comfortable conscience; and he liked that, too, 
for there were other interests calling him back to 
town. In some miraculous way he had escaped 
injury himself; luckily enough, for there were the 
races he simply must attend! “I’ll have some 
togs sent up from town for you, Rina, and novels, 
you know. You’ll manage to stand it for awhile ; 
and just as soon as you get around again, of 
course. I’ll come up and take you back. Awfully 
sorry it happened, you know; hate to leave you, 
old girl, but I positively must get back.” 

He did not meet the girl’s pleading eyes; he 
never did when there was something in his own it 
would be better all around she did not see. 


10 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Awfully nice girl, she was ! but one really 
couldn’t be bothered in town with an invalid ; 
lucky they had struck so good a place, he re- 
flected. It would rest her up a bit, too ; she had 
grown a little stale and irritable of late. Yes, a 
rest would be a good thing, a blamed good 
thing for them both ! And, having salved 
his slight mental unrest at leaving a comrade 
in the lurch, he hurried away to town and 
freedom. 

As the days passed slowly and painfully, Ca- 
rina grew to listen longingly for a quiet step 
along the hall, and sometimes, when a firm, capa- 
ble hand was laid gently on her poor swollen fin- 
gers, chafing and straightening them into com- 
fort, moisture would gather in the girl’s eyes, and 
she would draw the kind hand to her lips or press 
it against her cheek. 

Janet MacDonald loved beauty with a strange 
intensity for one so narrow and puritanic in her 
religious nature, so undemonstrative, and almost 
cold in outward expression of her real self. She 
had not grown up with people accustomed to free- 
dom of thought or action. She had been a quiet, 
reserved little girl, who, however, sometimes as- 
tonished her elders by absolutely refusing to do 
the “usual” or “proper” thing at the proper time 
or place; or by drawing her lips together firmly 
and saying nothing when she was expected to 
speak; or, perhaps, by straightening her slender 
form to its full height, while her eyes grew hard 


JANET MACDONALD 


11 


and bright as steel, when reproved, as she be- 
lieved, unjustly. 

When she came of age she astonished the lit- 
tle world in which she lived, with its well- 
bred, conventional ways of doing things, by one 
day going back to a town where she had taught 
school for a year and bringing home with her, as 
a husband, the man of her own choice, a perfect 
stranger to all her friends ; a man with fearless, 
handsome eyes, black, curly hair, and — a violin 1 
He said his father was a Scotchman and his 
mother an Italian, and that he was born in Amer- 
ica; that was all the account of himself he ever 
gave. 

After a few uncomfortable days in Janet’s 
home they drifted away together, and were sel- 
dom heard of for twenty years, when, just as si- 
lently and suddenly as they had gone, they ap- 
peared again, seeming to have plenty of money. 

They took up the farm, now falling into neg- 
lect, or J anet did, and cared very tenderly for the 
aged parents, and for various and sundry ancient 
waifs in the way of cousins and aunts, like poor 
crippled old Hannah Wilmot, to say nothing of 
other forlorn strangers that no one else 
‘‘wanted,” and who did not always turn out to be 
“angels unawares.” Here in time the shrewd, 
“silent partner,” Janet’s “hybrid” husband, laid 
down his violin for the last time, and closed his 
eyes to earth, their last gaze fixed in tender love 
upon his wife’s face, while her willing hands were 


12 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


laid against his lips. How or why they had 
drifted together, these two human beings so ut- 
terly unlike, no one could imagine ; but no one 
could doubt that the musician had loved the cold, 
white-souled, puritanic woman. And she.?^ — 


CHAPTER II 
THEIR CHILDREN 


Janet MacDonald wore no outward mourning. 
She never again spoke her husband’s name or told 
those who would have been very glad to know 
anything about their life together, how or where 
the most of it had been spent; but there was a 
certain air about her as of one who had learned 
through varied experiences to take care of her- 
self, and this something, with her natural reserve 
of manner, kept the curious always at bay. 

The husband had not been able to endure the 
noise and friction of young life about him during 
their wanderings. So the children had been kept 
in schools, and when Janet brought them to her 
old home they never felt quite at ease ; their great 
questioning eyes seemed always to be studying 
those about them with something of distrust. 
The neighbors called them “queer,” and they cer- 
tainly were uncommon. 

The children, however, did not need “outsid- 
ers,” as they frankly dubbed other people, being 
quite satisfied and happy with each other. They 
evidently stood in awe of their mother, and gave 
her the same unquestioning obedience and willing 
deference their father always showed her — as one 
IS 


14 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


above themselves, stronger and wiser than they, 
of course ; but beyond that they never seemed able 
to go. 

It was in many respects a pathetic relationship. 
Nature, apparently, loves to put queer mixtures 
together in families and watch them work out a 
harmony, or break apart when cohesion is im- 
possible. Jean would come home after roaming 
the fields, her black eyes sparkling, her cheeks like 
roses, her curly hair ablaze with red poppies, her 
arms full of other gorgeous flowers, or holding 
tenderly some wounded thing to care for until it 
should be able to go free again. Donald would 
laugh at her, even while he bound up the hurts 
with hands as gentle as a woman’s. Janet never 
interfered with their games or their pleasures, 
but she also never felt “acquainted” with them; 
there was a certain sense in her of not being really 
related, not just “akin,” and yet, on the other 
hand, she never failed in her full duty of mother- 
hood, as she conceived it, and in some strange 
way managed to hold them up, at least out- 
wardly, to her own high, even plane of life. 
Though they never openly questioned her will, 
authority or methods, they lived quite apart from 
her, and she knew it. 

Because she wished it, Donald attended an ag- 
ricultural college for four long, dreary years, 
spending his vacations at home. Jean found her 
way to a distant city, where she took a business 
course, the last thing one would have expected 


THEIR CHILDREN 


15 


of her ; but then one ought not to have “expected” 
things of Jean. She settled down to hard work 
and an independent life, surrounded by as many 
flowers, birds, and other dumb pets as she could 
“conveniently domesticate on twelve dollars a 
week.” The strongest, most dissimilar traits of 
both parents were combined in the quaint Scotch- 
Italian-New England maiden. No one but Don- 
ald really quite understood her, and at first he 
rebelled at her choice of occupation ; but he had to 
yield to her decision, because, as she said, it was 
on the whole more comfortable all around. No 
life would be lonely for the girl, he knew, because 
she had to reach out continually toward the lame 
and lazy, and lend a helping hand, though it 
would probably never be along conventional lines. 
Janet MacDonald, perhaps remembering her own 
girlhood, said nothing. Then there were years 
when the mother was alone in the home, vigorous, 
self-centered, resourceful, independent, but in the 
quiet evening hours sometimes strangely lone- 
some. If only she could have kept them with 
her, contented I but she had not known how. 

At last she wrote Donald to come back and 
carry on the farm for her, and, because she willed 
it, he stifled his own ambitions and obeyed un- 
questioningly, as he had always done. He seemed 
to lose himself in her willingly, and all day long 
his cheery voice could be heard in bam or gar- 
den, field or wood; humming, whistling, singing, 
or, in the quiet evening, away down by the weep- 


16 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


ing willow which hung over the brook one could 
trace him by his violin. Sometimes it sang like 
a triumphant soul, sometimes wailed in an agony 
of unrest and bitterness. Sometimes it seemed 
to cry aloud as if in terror at a hidden abyss of 
temptation suddenly revealed, or again stormed 
in impatience at fetters which held it down, pin- 
ioning its wings into impotence. Sometimes it 
sank into tender, tremulous tones of an unspoken 
or unrequited love, or sang in melody pure and 
simple like primitive, unvexed emotion, such as 
cherubim might express ; for Donald MacDonald 
was first of all a musician, and there was no need 
of his manifold nature which he could not bring 
to expression, no mood of restlessness he could 
not sing to repose through his instrument, when 
perhaps the spirit of sunny Italy found voice in 
him! He was little acquainted with the great 
tone masters, yet he understood them. He was 
in many senses technically untrained, and yet one 
with them. He felt, rather than knew, that mu- 
sic is not a ‘‘made-thing,” but the spontaneous, 
irrepressible expression of a living soul on fire 
with divine fervor. 

For some reason she never explained, Janet 
could not bear to hear him play, and so he was 
accustomed to steal away from the house and sing 
himself out to the brook and the stars, to all 
immensity, to the comradeships of growing, ex- 
panding nature ; and when his spirit at last came 
into rest, he would lay the fine old violin, his 


THEIR CHILDREN 


17 


father’s one treasure, carefully away, as he had 
so often seen him do in his boyhood, and fall 
asleep like a tired child. How many times his 
little fingers had ached in those days, when they 
could hardly follow the commands of the stern, 
impatient teacher, but obeyed until they caught 
the art, gained the strength, and in time felt the 
spirit of the father ! 

Donald’s nature was larger and richer than 
that of the wandering minstrel; he was capable 
of heights and depths of spiritual apprehension 
the older musician had never reached, and per- 
haps that was one reason the two had never quite 
understood each other, and also why the father 
had held the child down to long hours of hard 
study and compelled him to follow inflexible rules 
for work, even in his vacations, feeling dimly that 
the boy might have a future for which he could 
only lay the foundation. 

Years of hard work since his father’s death had 
left Donald little opportunity to keep his hands 
in training or to express in any way the music 
in his soul. He had almost forgotten his child- 
hood’s dream of bending human hearts beneath 
his bow or comforting the hungry and sorrowful ; 
and it was only his own necessity he sang out 
now and then into the great silences, he little 
knew how well. When the neighbors came for 
him to play at their social gatherings he always 
consented pleasantly, and gave them what they 
wanted, but not his own, for that he must have 


18 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


ears that would hear, or there could be no music. 

Janet never laughed as the neighboring farm- 
ers did at Donald’s heavy gloves and his refusal 
to do certain kinds of work ; but in her heart she 
wished he were ‘‘more like other men” and did 
not care to keep his hands soft and white. There 
was always a jealous pang, too, and a fear at 
her heart when she heard the distant tones of his 
violin on the still evening air. As had been her 
lifelong custom, she never interfered, but also 
never questioned him or led him to speak of his 
own desires. Calmly and firmly she guided his 
outward life, as she did her own, asking no ques- 
tions of others, expecting none to question her. 


CHAPTER III 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 

And yet this cold, domineering woman loved 
beauty passionately. She had never in all her 
wanderings seen a creature before who seemed so 
like her own ideal of womanly perfection as the 
golden-haired girl who had been so unexpectedly 
thrown into her life. She never grew weary of 
the unusual beauty of the soft brown eyes and 
brows, fair, clear skin, and shining golden hair 
full of wonderful red lights. She had not 
dreamed nature ever made such striking com- 
binations in human types, and, though she was 
used to the marvelous tints she saw every day 
in field and sky, the wealth of color about her in 
flowers and singing birds, the prodigality of na- 
ture in all seasons, here was something different, 
and Janet gave herself up to the joy of it, as a 
child might have done with a new toy. 

She was a strange mixture, a continual puzzle 
to herself, this Janet. With rare delight she 
combed out the luxuriant hair, parted it away 
from the broad, low forehead, and then arranged 
it after her own odd fancy high upon the superb 
head, gloating, as a plain woman sometimes does, 
over a beauty denied to her. It was a stately and 
19 


20 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


dignified head now as it lay quiet on the pillow. 
There was nothing of the usual play of quick, 
vivacious movement, the gay tossing, the capti- 
vating, coquettish glance or the merry dimpling, 
with which this woman of varied moods could ex- 
press herself when she chose, charming men and 
women alike; but Janet was curiously drawn to 
her. Something she could not have explained, 
had she tried, was working in her heart, and one 
morning to her own astonishment she said: “You 
are very beautiful; I am sure you must be good, 
too.” 

Carina gave a sharp, quick laugh, but checked 
it instantly when she saw the pained flush on the 
older woman’s face. “It’s so fun — so kind in 
you to think so, but — ” 

The older woman interrupted her: “I know 
faces pretty well; I have watched yours through 
many hours, and am sure you must have a beau- 
tiful soul, too.” 

A startled look came into Carina’s eyes, and 
she quickly veiled them. That word again — 
“soul”! This woman evidently thought she not 
only had one, but that it must be beautiful. 

Instantly an idea flashed into the quick brain. 
What if she never let the quiet, intense, white 
woman before her know that she had none.? that, 
as Dick had mockingly said, she did not even 
know exactly what the word meant? What a 
joke! How Dick would laugh! She was a cap- 
ital actress ; they would think her, these good 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 21 


‘‘souls” here, like themselves, white and proper 
and awfully stupid; that would be a diversion. 

What would those say who knew her as she 
really was ; who laughed about her at a club ; 
who had taught her to know only “clothes, food,” 

« — who — she clenched her fists in sudden rage — 
“drink, pleasure and love”? 

Yes, Dick could well say so, for he had fur- 
nished her with them all, lavishly, smothered her 
in them as in a benumbing, overpowering odor 
of sensuous sweetness. He had taken her away 
from Mrs. Dole’s boarding house, where she had 
worked so hard that she had grown from a deli- 
cate child into a strong, healthy girl, “too devil- 
ish handsome,” Dick had said, for such a life. 
He had taken her to his own luxurious apart- 
ments, given her everything her vanity and in- 
experience craved, loaded her with beautiful, 
expensive clothes and jewels, everything she 
could think of ; and she could think of a great 
deal. 

Before those days, long, long before, it had 
seemed to her, she had been a gay, free-hearted 
child, with pretty things of her own, and money 
to spend as she liked, but even then she had not 
seemed to “belong” to anyone ; she had no father, 
or mother, as other children had. When she 
asked Mrs. Dole about it, there was always just 
one answer, “I don’t know.” 

Once, she remembered, oh — , how well she re- 
membered ! — a gentleman came into the room, 


22 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


took her hand, and looked at her in a queer way 
for a long time, and then asked if she had all 
she wanted. His face seemed so friendly, when 
she looked up into the great dark eyes, she 
answered, ‘‘All but a father and mother,” then 
hid her face against his hand. When the tears 
she could not hold back wet it, he unclasped it 
quickly, looked at it curiously, and wiped the 
great drops off in a nervous way. Before he 
went he took a gold coin from his pocket, handed 
it to her, and told her to be a good girl, and 
mind Mrs. Dole. He stopped a moment at the 
door and stooped down a little, as though he 
would have kissed her; but, when she started to- 
ward him with eager hunger, he straightened him- 
self again, frowned so that her heart almost stood 
still, and then went out quickly and closed the 
door. She never saw him again. 

She could see the whole scene as vividly as 
though it had been lived through only yesterday, 
that one time, when she had almost come into close 
touch with someone who in a vague, uncertain way, 
appeared to “belong” to her. Mrs. Dole had 
answered her eager questions again in the same 
old way, “I do not know ; he pays the bills ; don’t 
bother me, child.” Very soon there was no more 
money, Mrs. Dole said, and she grew cross and 
harsh to the girl. There were no longer pretty 
clothes, and she was not allowed to go out into 
the little park to play with other children in 
the old, gay, happy way. Then she had to work. 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 23 


work, work, until she crept to bed every night too 
tired to care or fret. 

Soon she learned to purloin little pleasures, to 
be secretive and shy ; to linger, whenever she 
dared, on errands, and to deceive Mrs. Dole in 
every way ; especially to slip out of the house 
whenever she could. Sometimes she would hide 
behind a great church door on Sunday morning, 
where she could peep out between the hinges, and 
watch the pretty, dainty, happy-looking chil- 
dren go in or come out with their fathers and 
mothers. Sometimes she would see a hat or bow 
straightened with anxious, loving care, that 
the little one might look her best, when, some- 
how, her own throat would seem to choke 
her. 

Sometimes she would come again at night and 
steal into the warm church just to hear the music 
she loved so passionately, then, when the man in 
the long dress began to talk, if she forgot to slip 
out she would fall asleep in the dim, soft corner of 
the pew, until the sexton shook her awake and 
mildly scolded her out into the street. Sometimes 
she would dance to the hurdy-gurdy, or stand en- 
tranced before some gaudy creature of the the- 
atrical world who simpered and smirked down 
upon her from a bill board. Often she uncon- 
sciously took the same posture, or assumed, so 
far as she could, the expression, posing herself 
with marvelous grace and mimicry, to the delight 
of passers-by, who would stop to watch her un- 


24 * 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


til, awakening to consciousness of an audience, 
she would run away with burning cheeks. 

Sometimes she would linger before an uncur- 
tained window in which she could see a pretty 
table full of merry faces ; then creep home up 
the back stairs to bed, and cry herself to sleep. 
She tried several times to get ‘‘lost,” hoping some- 
one would find her and perhaps give her a place in 
one of those very homes. But no one ever did. 
It was always the “cop” who found her and asked 
the usual question, where she lived, and then saw 
that she went home. 

Once — she remembered that night too, so well 
— she climbed up into an iron balcony which en- 
closed a window. She could stand there com- 
fortably and look into the brilliantly lighted 
room. No one could see if she peeked around the 
broad stone casement. There was a bright fire 
dancing merrily on a broad hearth ; not one made 
of gas, Rina hated those, but a real fire. Three 
or four children were playing about the room. 
Finally the door opened and a neat, sweet-faced 
woman came in, bringing a bundle very carefully. 
Rina could see the children jump up and clap 
their hands. The woman sat down upon a stool 
and opened the bundle very tenderly. It was a 
baby, a real live baby, with lovely soft rings of 
fair hair curling on its tiny head. It wore a 
beautiful white dress, with rich embroideries, and 
a dainty sack with blue ribbons. A little girl 
was allowed to touch it first. She seemed to like 


\ 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 25 


best the soft hair for she stooped and kissed it, 
then stood with a look of perfect rapture on her 
fine little face. A boy was most interested to 
put his finger into the round, red mouth, which 
promptly closed upon it, to his intense delight. 
Another boy pulled up the dress, and the nurse 
took ojflF the cunning blue and white socks. Were 
there ever such lovely, tiny, pink toes ? The 
children all kissed them, one after another, and 
nestled them in their hands and seemed never 
weary of their exquisite softness and cunning curl- 
ing ways. 

Rina had forgotten all precaution now and 
stood full in the window, her face pressed eagerly 
against the glass. If only she might touch one 
dainty toe, or put a kiss, just one kiss, under 
the arched instep ! Hot tears rolled down her 
cheeks one after another, whether of joy or of 
sorrow, she could not have told. Baby’s big blue 
eyes had been growing rounder and rounder all 
this time; the little mouth was ready to pucker, 
and quiver; and then a lovely lady who was sit- 
ting near, smiling very sweetly, reached out her 
arms, — she did not seem to remember her dainty 
evening gown, but just reached out her arms, — 
and, when the blue eyes looked into hers, the 
pucker instantly became a smile of radiant de- 
light. Rina sobbed aloud. 

A harsh voice sounded in her ear, and her arm 
was taken in an iron grip. “What are you doing 
here.? Come out of that.” “O coppy, coppy. 


26 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


look!” she cried “she’s its mother, coppy!” For 
a moment the rough man relaxed his hold, then 
took her hand, and helped her over the rail. 

want to go home, child. Haven’t you any 
home ?” 

She laid her head against his hand for a mo- 
ment. “Yes,” she sobbed, “yes; Mrs. Dole’s; I’m 
going.” As she hurried away, she heard him 
mutter his kind of a prayer, “God forsaken kid 1” 

Little by little, Carina’s life passed before her 
mind’s eye in detailed review, as she lay hour after 
hour of the days and nights in “The Chamber of 
Peace.” Of course, she had known there were 
other kinds of life than that she had lived, but no 
one of them had ever spoken to her, or she to 
them; she had always seemed to be outside of 
what was a charmed circle of light and happi- 
ness. At least no one of them all “belonged” to 
her; and when Dick had rescued her from the 
dull boarding-house, she did not know how, and 
had taken her into his gay existence, it had all 
seemed wonderful and beautiful. He had sent 
her to a fashionable school for three years ; but 
only a few of the girls had made friends with her, 
or seemed to like her, although she had lovely 
clothes and plenty of spending money. Certainly 
no one there was at all interested in “souls,” 
ever spoke of them, ever thought of them ; she 
was sure of that. 

As she remembered, and remembered, a bitter- 
ness sprang up in her heart; then grew into an- 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 27 


ger. Who were her parents ? Why had they 
abandoned her? She saw now it must have been 
that, or Mrs. Dole would have said they had 
‘‘died” ; which she never did. Who were these 
people who had left her to grow up in the streets 
and in the dingy, hopeless boarding-house, 
with its endless hard work, worries, economies, 
and anxieties? Why had she not had love and 
protection? the other things would not then have 
mattered so much. For the first time in her life 
many questions surged through Carina Du- 
Cheyne’s brain and heart. The white room grew 
stifling. What was it doing to her? Was it 
“haunted” ? 

Sometimes she would fall asleep and dream of 
myriads of tiny white globes dancing and swirl- 
ing through the air, until her very brain seemed 
to be on fire. These must be the “souls dancing 
on the point of a needle” Dick had told about; 
crazy souls, erratic souls, sleepy souls, drunken, 
reeling souls, funny, clownish, sneering souls ; 
souls in every possible and impossible mood, but 
ever dancing on, frantically keeping up any mo- 
tion they had begun, apparently unable to stop. 
One of them must be her own. She could never 
find it, yet felt sure it must be there. She would 
wake up in a cold perspiration from her vain 
search. Where had her soul been all these years, 
and why did it torment her now? Perhaps she 
was going insane, and this was the way it began. 
She would get away, she must get away, back to 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Dick. These things never troubled her with him. 
If he did talk of them with others, she was sure 
it was only for the sake of amusement ; Dick cared 
most of all to be amused. She liked that, too; 
she would at least get out of this dreadful room. 

She could amuse herself, perhaps, in the mean- 
while with the widow’s goody-goody boy down- 
stairs. That would be something. And Carina 
laughed harshly, so that her voice grated even on 
her own ear. Yes, that might be fun. A cheery 
whistle sounded under the window, and a firm, 
elastic step went down the gravel path. That 
was the calm-faced woman’s son, her only boy, 
about whom she never seemed to tire of talking. 
Evidently he was the pink of perfection, gentle, 
unselfish, good, brave; such a long row of virtues 
he had! Probably a perfect stick! 

Carina’s face changed again as she glanced at 
a beautiful bouquet of flowers on the stand near 
her bed. He had never failed to take of his 
valuable time to gather them for her every day 
since the accident. How different they had been 
one from another, and how lovely and refresh- 
ing! She wondered how he had come to under- 
stand flowers so well and arrange them always in 
harmony of color. 

She had drawn many facts about him from the 
mother, in idle curiosity, or to pass away the 
time. Donald would have been perfectly aston- 
ished to hear his mother unclose to this stranger 
depths of pride and affection he never dreamed 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 29 


existed in her heart. Often, as Carina watched 
Janet with half-closed eyes, a jealous pang stole 
into her own heart, when the cold, dignified face 
would brighten and glow, or mould itself into 
soft, tender lines under the beloved theme. 

Well, Dick loved her too; at least she — at 
least, he always said he did — ^when she asked him ; 
but no such light came into his eyes ; he never 
talked about her to others in this way ; and 
didn’t he say, on that last ride, he had laughed 
at her with the men he knew at the club.? What 
was the matter with her world, that it did not 
seem to touch this one into which she had been 
thrown at any point? Was her house of cards 
tumbling down about her head? 

Carina began to wonder what this idolized man 
was really like ; a great, green country bumpkin, 
with hayseed in his hair, probably ; and the 
girl laughed aloud at the picture she con- 
jured up, but her face sobered again; — his 
voice! Such a voice could hardly belong to a 
“hayseed man.” She could remember how he 
spoke to her that day in quiet command. She 
had heard him, too, many times since, speaking 
to his mother on the lawn and about the house. 
And then his laugh! she had smiled often to hear 
it ring out so full of rich, rollicking mirth. Dick 
did not laugh like that, she was not sure he 
laughed at all. She sighed dismally. Ah, well, 
it was all of no consequence; she could begin to 
hobble about the room now a little, and sit over 


30 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


by the window in the comfortable rocking chair; 
she could see for herself how it looked out of 
doors. By rights it should be all blue and white, 
like the rugs, or all blue, as she was herself. She 
ended by shrugging her shoulders at her own con- 
ceit. 

Suddenly a new thought came : what if she 
never went back into the dust and din of her city 
life.? She smiled at the absurd notion. Why, 
that was her life; where she belonged; all she 
knew about; — ^her eyes moved slowly around the 
peaceful room ; — all she was fit for. She and this 
place did not “match.” She had always been so 
careful in her toilets to have things harmonize, 
gown, hat, gloves, shoes, even jewels. 

For the first time since she had been brought 
into the room she got up and, pushing a chair 
slowly over to the mirror, sat down before it. 
“Oh, dear!” she exclaimed aloud, “what has hap- 
pened to me?” Her hair was piled lightly upon 
her head; but there were no Marcelle waves, no 
artificial turns and quirks ; it was parted in the 
middle and drawn back from the forehead in a 
way that must have astonished it. 

The elegant negligee, with its rich lace and 
dainty ribbons, the white, jewelled hand, she 
knew; but the face! What had the hair done to 
that! It wasn’t so bad, the effect, either; but 
queer, and somehow oddly familiar. Had she not 
seen some picture that looked like that? It might 
almost be another Carina. What would Dick 


CONCERNING CARINA DUCHEYNE 31 


say, if she came into his room like that? This 
time she did not feel like laughing. Where was 
Dick? Five weeks, two letters; that was all. 
Why had he not motored up from town to see 
her? He must know how stupid and tiresome 
life would be here. No, it hadn’t been that, ex- 
actly, she reflected; but she could be taken back 
now. He must come. An intolerable restlessness 
took possession of her, a half-prescience of some- 
thing out of order. It was all simply too tire- 
some. She was morbid; she, of all people. 

Perhaps these good folks could manage to get 
her downstairs. What if she suggested that the 
wonderful son carry her? Dick often picked her 
up and carried her out of the room, if she teased 
him too much; but this puritan, this bumpkin; 
what a lark ! How frightened he would be ! 
Could she keep from laughing in! his blushing face 
when he undertook it? 

She would try it on, and she would flirt with 
him a little ; or a lot, if it turned out to be worth 
her while; but stay longer in this haunted room, 
she simply could, and would not. “Haunted” ; 
that was just the right word; somebody “be- 
longed” in it, and did not want her here! She 
looked furtively around. “I should like to be- 
long in it,” she said to herself in the glass, and 
shook her head impatiently; but she only got a 
sharp pain in her lame arm as a result. Yes, a 
good flirtation of a new kind; that would make 
life tolerable here a while longer, if she must 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


S2 

stay. She should like to see the mother’s face, 
when her idol changed the usual order and bowed 
down before a new divinity. That would be 
something worth while. 

Carina pulled the little table over to her chair 
and picked from the bouquet two beautiful yellow 
roses with deep, pink hearts, and tucked one into 
her hair, the other into the exquisite lace of her 
dainty, costly robe. 

Despite all the pain and inconvenience she had 
endured, no trace of it showed in her face, only 
the dark eyes looked a little larger than their 
wont, and that wasn’t a bad touch, made her look 
“interesting,” Carina decided after a searching 
examination of her features in the glass. 

She patted and pulled her hair here and there 
gently, with light strokes which all told oh its 
curves, then rang the little call bell sharply. 


CHAPTER IV 


THE ‘‘HAYSEED” 

Janet MacDonald drew her breath quickly in 
an unconscious exclamation of delight, when she 
opened the door and saw the girl standing before 
her. A soft color had come into Carina’s face 
from her effort, as she had risen unsteadily to 
her feet, and now stood at her full height, with 
the superb poise nature had given her. Janet’s 
first impulse was to drop upon her knees before 
the woman so like a queen, sure of her rights, and 
all-compelling in her power and grace. 

Carina laughed merrily at the queer, awed ex- 
pression in her face. “Your patient has struck, 
dear lady, and wants to try her wings. Don’t 
you think she might fly downstairs for a while, 
even with this disgraceful looking hurt wing?” 
and she looked ruefully at the bandaged arm. 

“But your ankle,” Janet reminded her. 

“Yes! that would be bothersome. I — I won- 
dered if your son would not help me down. Do 
you think he has time? I don’t want to trouble 
him too much,” Carina said hesitatingly, falling 
into her part like the inimitable actress she was. 

“He will be in very soon, and I will ask him,” 
Janet answered with a certain shyness. 

33 


34 * 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


‘‘That will be delightful! I am so tired of 
staying here alone,” and Carina looked pleadingly 
into the blue eyes. 

“It has been a long, hard time for you. I 
wish I might have made it easier ; but I hope 
things will be better, now that you can get about 
some. We will draw the round table up near 
the lounge, German fashion, and have our tea 
there together, shall we.^” 

“That will be lovely 1” Carina cried. “But 
please, Mrs. MacDonald, don’t talk of having 
made things easier. I don’t know how I can ever 
thank you for all you have done for me. No one 
could have been more thoughtful and tender. I 
think it must have been almost” — ^Carina’s voice 
broke a little — “like having a — mother. I never 
had one ; and I have always needed her and longed 
for her so 1” 

Janet took the beautiful hand and held it. “If 
you only knew what a joy it has been to me 1” 
she answered. 

“Now I can help a little, too, and not be so 
much of a bother, like a big, big baby 1” and Ca- 
rina straightened herself and looked down into 
the disturbed eyes, smiling to hide her own emo- 
tion. 

Janet laughed softly, as she stroked the white 
hand she still held in hers. Somehow she had 
forgotten hands could be so soft and smooth. 

“Yes, you may help — all you — can.” 

“I am afraid you are not much impressed with 


THE ‘‘HAYSEED” 


35 


my offer,” Carina reproached her. “Wait and 
see. One hand is a great deal better than none.” 

Half an hour later, there were steps in the 
hall, and Janet once more put her head in at the 
door. “Here is my son,” she said ; “shall he help 
you now.?” 

Carina looked up into a face with only one 
feature like the mother, the eyes, which opened 
upon her own in a surprised, dazed way, and as 
though unable to let go. They seemed to the 
girl to look into the very center of her being. 
She had never had such an “introduction,” and 
shrank back, half withdrawing her proffered 
hand. 

In another instant, a smile broke over the 
strange, almost rigid calm of his face, and the 
deep, vibrant voice she had so often heard seemed 
to fill the room almost too full. 

“This is great news. Mother tells me you feel 
able to go downstairs ; but I have my doubts 
about that lame ankle. This is the way I 
brought you up. Allow me,” he said, and, before 
Carina could find her voice, he had her in his 
arms, carrying her as he might have done a child, 
though she could hear the quick beating of his 
heart under her weight. 

He only spoke once to ask if he were hurting 
her. With the utmost care and tenderness he 
carried her down the long flight of stairs, and 
laid her on the broad old couch in the family sit- 
ting-room; spread a cover over her feet; ar- 


36 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


ranged the cushions, and drew down a shade to shut 
the lowering sun from her eyes. It was all done 
so deftly, so absolutely without self-conscious- 
ness, so — what was it in the man, Carina won- 
dered, different from the men she knew.?^ This 
was certainly not the way “hayseeds” were sup- 
posed to act; and this wasn’t the way, at all, to 
begin a flirtation. Carina looked up into his 
face as he asked if she were comfortable. He 
had stolen all her guns ; he was the self pos- 
sessed one, she the awkward greenhorn, ill at 
ease and uncertain of herself. 

Looking about the room once more with a criti- 
cal eye, as if to see that everything had been 
done for her comfort, he excused himself and 
stepped quietly out of the door. 

Carina hardly knew whether to laugh or cry. 
She felt she must do something. And this was 
the country bumpkin she was to subdue or anni- 
hilate ; a man like this ! 

He must have been over six feet tall, she 
thought. His hair was as black as an Italian’s, 
curly and obstinate; his mouth, when he smiled 
at her, tender, and sensitive ; his nose straight as 
an arrow; his chin — that was certainly a feature 
to respect — square and uncompromising. His 
face was almost pale, especially where the hair 
curled away from the thoughtful brow. What 
might not be expected from such a combination? 
she wondered; surely something unusual! 

Carina decided that on the whole it was a 


THE “HAYSEED” 


S7 


stern, almost fierce face, despite the mouth. She 
believed she was already just a little afraid of 
him. Afraid of a man! that was a new sensa- 
tion! She wasn’t afraid of Dick in any mood, 
not even when he was a bit — drunk. Involun- 
tarily she rapidly drew a mental picture of him 
and set it up in her mind’s eye by the side of this 
new kind of a man she had just met. “I guess 
I’ll put a tail on it, and call it a pig,” she quoted 
aloud in unconscious irony. A bright color 
streamed over her face, when she realized what she 
had said. What was the matter with her world.? 
It was certainly getting topsy turvy. 

This was another pleasant place, this “sitting- 
room,” as they called it. There were flowers 
here, too, in more queer old vases. A great grey 
jug, with a funny indigo blue splotch on it, stood 
in the fireplace, full of daisies. 

A yellow brown jar, with lines of darker brown 
around it, held a mass of buttercups. Who 
would have thought it could be so pretty? Ca- 
rina’s eyes came back to it again and again, 
where it stood upon one corner of the mantel, re- 
flecting its glory in the long, narrow looking- 
glass which stretched from one end to the other, 
instead of hanging primly, in horizontal lines, 
stiff and uncompromising. How could “things” 
be so different in different places? If that jar 
had pickles in it, — yes, she had to admit, they 
would taste good ; but who would look at it 
then ? 


38 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


There was a door, too, which opened right into 
“outdoors,” where all was green grass, and trees, 
and water away off there, shining in the distance. 
A path led in a straight, narrow line away into 
something which ended in a green gate in a green 
wall. Over it towered tall, dark, slender trees, 
such as she had seen in park drives. How rich 
they were against the evening sky! 

There was a new moon too. Wasn’t it fortu- 
nate she saw its slender sickle over her right 
shoulder ! Carina smiled at her childishness. 
There was a new noise somewhere, and then a 
splendid collie dashed into the room and growled 
fretfully. 

“Why, Hector!” a voice cried, “Why Hector, 
boy! Is that the way to greet a lady.? And 
see,” he added softly, “she is hurt and needs our 
care and protection. I am ashamed of your dis- 
courtesy.” 

The dog came close to Carina now, as the big 
man stood in the doorway, and touched her swol- 
len hand as carefully as the master would have 
done, and looked into her eyes, wagging his tail 
apologetically. 

“It’s all right; he didn’t know I loved dogs. 
Now we are properly introduced, I am sure we 
shall be friends.” 

The word “friends,” Hector understood, and 
promptly put up his paw to shake hands. Ca- 
rina tried to reach him with her well hand. Don- 
ald, seeing her predicament, sprang to her side. 


THE “HAYSEED^^ 


and raised her a little, smiling down into her 
answering eyes. 

“I often think he knows as much as we do. 
He’s a perfect gentleman ; which cannot always be 
said of our kind, unfortunately; can it.^^” and his 
hearty laugh rang out boyishly. 

When Donald raised her, the rose at Garina’s 
breast fell to the floor. With a quick motion 
Donald covered it by his hand before the girl’s 
eye had noticed her loss. 

How delicious the tea tasted as the three sat 
about the round table, sipping from quaint cups 
out of whose depths fierce dragons stared wildly 
up at them. Again Carina was amazed at the 
ease and grace of the dignified man, who seemed 
absolutely unconscious that here was a strange, 
new situation in his quiet life. 

At nine o’clock, after Carina had been alone 
for an hour, or more, while mother and son were 
busy elsewhere, the door opened again softly and 
Janet said, “We are used to having family prayers 
together, my son and I. I wonder if you would 
like to have us follow our custom in this room.?^” 

An almost irresistible impulse to laugh came 
over the girl. She drew her handkerchief over 
her telltale eyes and managed to gasp out, “Oh, 
certainly [ Don’t let me interfere in any way 
with your customs.” Then, feeling for some un- 
accountable reason that her answer had sounded 
unsympathetic, she added, “I should like it, too.” 

Here was something new in the way of “enter- 


40 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


tainment!” Again a picture of Dick flashed into 
her consciousness. How they would all laugh in 
town, when she got it off to them! She was so 
occupied in trying to hehave properly while 
these thoughts raced through her head that she 
hardly noticed when Donald came into the room. 
She found he had apparently forgotten her ex- 
istence. The stern lines had relaxed, and his fea- 
tures were lighted up, while his fine eyes, fixed upon 
his mother’s face as she read, seemed to glow with 
an inner fire. Carina was wondering idly what it 
was all about, when she heard the words, “What 
shall it profit a man, if he gain the whole world 
and lose his own soul.?” There was a word she 
knew a great deal about — or nothing at all. It 
had evidently happened to that man whoever he 
was, as it had to her; he had lost his soul. Her 
thoughts flew back to Dick and his taunting 
words. Presently, strong, gentle arms were 
about her again to carry her upstairs to the white 
room. She felt the man’s eyes upon her face, 
but for some reason she could not look up. It 
seemed as though he would know she was — “dif- 
ferent” ; and that., she had resolved, he should not 
find out. 

“Mother has told you we call this room, my 
Aunt Hannah’s, ‘The Chamber of Peace’.?” he 
asked as they entered it. Then, without wait- 
ing for an answer, he added, “You seem to fit it, 
too. Good night.” 

Carina laid herself back in the old chair in 


THE “HAYSEED” 


41 


which he had placed her. It had all been too 
much. Sob after sob shook her. When 
J anet MacDonald came into the room a few 
minutes later, she exclaimed in a shocked, 
anxious voice, “Why, child, you have been cry- 
ing 1 Are you in pain somewhere.? What is it?” 

“I think it was more nearly laughing. It was 
all so f — it was so — ” For some inexplicable 
reason Carina caught herself up sharply, and 
changed the word she was about to use. “So 
pleasant,” she said, “to be about once more.” 


CHAPTER V 


A MAN AND A WOMAN 

Three days later, when Donald came to help 
her down in the bright, beautiful morning, she 
said, “I am going to try walking this time, if you 
will just help a little.” 

“No, no”; he cried eagerly; don’t get well too 
soon ; it is such a pleasure to me to feel I can be 
of some use to you ;” and, before she could de- 
mur, he took her again into his arms, and car- 
ried her down and out through the open door 
into the June beauty of the country. 

“Shut your eyes just a minute,” he commanded 
softly; “I want to give you a surprise.” She 
obeyed with a smile at the boy in him. “Now 
open them. Where do you think you are.?^” he 
asked with a merry ring in his voice. 

A look of surprise and pleasure grew in the 
girl’s eyes, as she looked about her in bewilder- 
ment. “Oh, how beautiful it all is !” she cried in 
delight. “I know where I am, for I have seen 
pictures of it; in Italy. How did you ever get 
me here so soon. I heard water, but did not feel 
the waves. Was it on wings? I thought they 
were strong arms instead. What a mistake !” 
and Carina looked saucily into his merry face and 
42 


A MAN AND A WOMAN 


43 


clapped her hands like any child. Then she 
added, ‘^Or is it a dream ! ” 

Donald made her a deep obeisance, and dropped 
upon one knee. ‘‘What does her majesty the 
queen of dreams command her most willing serv- 
ant?” 

“Only one thing,” Carina answered as she 
leaned over to give him her hand, and draw him to 
his feet. “Tell me who made it all, and here?” 

“I, your majesty, and I am fully rewarded now 
for all my toil,” he said, with another deep bow. 

It was like, and yet unlike, its foreign proto- 
type, this garden. Its creator had no delicately 
veined marbles at command, with which to build 
the steps and terraces, or encase his springing 
fountains ; no lovely, costly statues with which 
to adorn his pergolas ; but with the material he 
found at hand and hours of patient, loving toil 
he had produced a bit of Italy, with its char- 
acter and nationality so impressed upon its out- 
lines, that even Carina, with her untrained eyes 
and general ignorance, had been able to recog- 
nize and understand it at once. 

“There was a large natural pond here,” Donald 
explained, “and the water, coming down from the 
hills over there, gave me power. For the rest, 
it was a labor of love and — necessity,” he added, 
after a slight pause, his eyes darkening. “It 
was a pleasure, at the day’s close, to work here. 
Mother laughs at me about it all ; she much pre- 
fers her beds out there in front, under the win- 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


dows and along the path, to my ‘formal non- 
sense,’ as she calls it. They were there when 
she was a girl, and mean home to her. This has 
not been my home.” 

He turned away abruptly, and presently came 
back bringing the latest magazines. “I shall 
come in to take you in for dinner, if that won’t 
be too long, your majesty.” 

He threw up his head, in a funny little gesture 
of his own, then, at her nod, with his rare smile, 
moved backward toward the gate, bowing re- 
peatedly and finally giving another hearty laugh 
at the queer, uncertain expression on Carina’s 
face, as he disappeared. Where had the man 
learned it all.? If Carina had known about such 
things, she might have decided that in an earlier 
metempsychosis he had been Sir Walter Raleigh 
himself. 

There were no more “long days” now or tire- 
some evenings. Sometimes, when the moon came 
to its full splendor, they went out again after 
supper and sat in silent companionship, watching 
its glory and the shadows in the garden ; or talked 
in low tones of the books Donald read aloud to 
her, never suspecting how unable she was to fol- 
low him or how little she had thought of sub- 
jects which roused in him glowing, burning en- 
thusiasm. 

When she could move about freely once more, 
on days when press of work made it hard for him 
to come to the house, she begged Janet to let her 


A MAN AND A WOMAN 


45 


carry his lunch out into the fragrant fields. He 
looked very handsome in blouse and straw hat. 
Somehow, she wasn’t quite so much afraid of him 
out there under the sky. Sometimes she would 
linger while he ate. Then he would stretch him- 
self at her feet, under the old willow by the 
brook, and drink of her beauty until his head 
hummed with the rush and riot of the blood in 
his veins. One day he accidentally took a roll 
of catgut out of his pocket, when hunting for 
something else. A timid look came into his eyes, 
as he glanced quickly at his companion to see 
if she noticed it. Carina shook her finger at him 
reproachfully. “Now I know who made the 
music I so often heard in the distance, when I had 
to stay in the ‘Chamber of Peace.’ And you have 
never told me, or offered to play. Now you 
must;'^ and she frowned “darkly and ominously” 
at him. “I command,” she said, drawing herself 
up to her full, superb height. 

“Please, your majesty, sit down, and don’t 
look so — so splendidly fierce, or I shall ‘die of 
scare.’ I think I could play to you,” he added 
softly, “better than I can talk, if you really wish 
it. Mother doesn’t like to have me play near the 
house. I think she cannot bear it on account of 
my — father. Would you come out to the old 
willow by the brook with me sometime.? Would 
you care to.?” He spoke as eagerly as a child. 
“It would mean so much to me.” 

“I am afraid I don’t know anything about 


46 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


music, real music; but I think I should like to,” 
Carina answered quietly. Somehow, she was be- 
ginning to want to be absolutely truthful to this 
man. 

Donald looked at her in astonishment. “I 
know you will understand it. How can you ques- 
tion that.? And you will sing to me.?” he cried, 
and sprang to his feet. 

‘‘What makes you think I can sing.?” she asked, 
smiling at his eagerness. 

“I know that, too. You and song belong to- 
gether. Perhaps I could play to accompany you. 
Should you like that.?” 

“Yes I should,” Carina answered sadly ; “but 
I have no faith in my ability. It is only that I 
want to.” 

“That is what I believe,” he answered. “One 
must want to, or the lyre is mute. How I envy 
you the great privilege city life has brought you 
of hearing the best things ! How much you must 
know about it all!” 

Carina, consistently with the part she was find- 
ing it very hard to play these days, did not re- 
ply. He should think she did know. She was 
ashamed to remember that she had been too idle 
and frivolous of late years even to care that fine 
and great things were being done, or ever had 
been done. She began to wish sometimes, when 
she looked into the luminous face before her that 
she had cared, that she, too, could feel such a 
vital interest in these serious subjects and in the 


A MAN AND A WOMAN 


47 


life he seemed to live so entirely outside her ovui. 

Sometimes she felt a stirring of the dry bones, 
a resolution, so feeble it could hardly be called 
that, to become the thing she was pretending to 
be ; but then, she would reflect, it would mean hard 
work, and Dick would laugh at her for bothering 
a woman’s head with such matters. For some 
reason she sighed. 

At least she was no longer ‘‘bored,” and 
she wasn’t “flirting” with this man either; she 
had given that idea up the last time he carried her 
up the stairs. He had compelled her to look into 
his eyes, as he moved slowly along, and she had 
decided she did not want to play that game or 
any other, except that of keeping him from know- 
ing what she was, a woman far, far beneath him, 
ignorant, coarse, vulgar. Yes, she began to see 
that she and her friends were that; at least they 
were not fine and “different,” like this Donald 
and his mother. 

Three weeks more slipped away. Dick and 
some men friends had been off on a yachting trip. 
He had written a few lines and sent a check for 
her expenses, but said nothing of coming for her; 
and somehow she was content to have it so ; only 
that, now and again, a great fear came over her, 
that these people in the quiet, pleasant home 
would find her out and scorn her acting. They 
were both so serious. Life was not to them at 
all a thing to be just enjoyed. “Amusement” 
seemed to be of little importance. They never 


48 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


‘‘did things” just to fill up the day. There 
wasn’t any time really to spare, excepting for 
rest, and that was often simply doing something 
else ; sitting out under the trees, listening to the 
birds, watching the sun set, driving through end- 
less green, woody roads, full of sweet smells and 
sounds or wonderful silences ; lying in the grass 
by the brook watching the timid trout or the 
golden shadows; or just listening to the gentle 
murmur of Donald’s music, when he had brought 
out his violin for the noon hour. There simply 
wasn’t time enough for it all in any day! 

Long since Carina had written her maid to 
send some of the simplest gowns she owned and 
to get strong boots and gloves, things she could 
work or walk in with comfort. Every day she 
dusted the rooms, and even washed and wiped 
dishes in a funny, awkward one-handed way. 
She could go on errands into the pantry and out 
to the milk-house, hunt eggs, or feed the chickens, 
and even stir the cake. She had made one all 
alone, and baked it too ! No great chef was ever 
prouder of a rare dish than she of this simple 
cake; and, when Donald crowned it that evening 
with a wreath of forget-me-nots and recited a 
beautiful poem in its honor, begging the privilege 
of cutting it and proposing to dedicate a violin 
solo to its virtues, they all laughed like merry 
children. 

That night, at family prayers, the mother read 
the story of Mary Magdalene. A slow horror 


A MAN AND A WOMAN 


49 


crept over Carina’s senses, as she heard the tale. 
Her face grew grey and drawn, as a white light 
poured into her shrunken, frivolous nature. 
Things began to loom large and strange before 
her vision and cast awful shadows over her heart. 
She looked fearfully at Janet and Donald, to see 
if they were watching, but they had forgotten 
her; only the reflection of the Master’s tender- 
ness shone in their faces. And she had just now 
been so gay and, yes, happy ! What was it that 
was happening to her life, so that the walls seemed 
to be pressing in upon her, and the roof slowly 
sinking.? She clenched her fingers until they were 
white, too. She bit her lip until it bled, to hold 
back the cry of terror at the truth which sud- 
denly confronted her for the first time. 

When Donald started to help her up the stairs 
as usual, she said with a wan smile, “No I must 
go alone now,” and refused his proffered arm. 

“But you look ill,” he exclaimed, “you are 
faint.” 

“No, — I am — just a little tired.” 

“Then I shall help you,” and he bore her up the 
stair. 

Once more she felt his arms about her. It 
must be the last time; he must never touch her 
again, never again. She went slowly and uncer- 
tainly over to the glass, staggering along, as she 
had so often done after a gay dinner, feeling her 
way by chairs and table. She looked at herself 
in the glass, at her face, her parted hair. Her 


50 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


eyes grew larger, and larger, as she looked, and 
an expression of horror came into their depths. 
Now she knew what she had been reminded of the 
first day of her convalescence by her own head. 
It was a picture a friend owned, the famous Mag- 
dalene. She cowered to the floor in an agony of 
soul, covering her face with her full, long sleeve. 
And this was what Dick had done ! And he knew, 
he had known when he took her from Mrs. Dole’s ! 
She tore the rings from her hand and the frail 
costly lace from her neck, to get them off, only 
to get them off ; the ‘‘price” ! the “price” ! 
“Clothes, food, amusement, love, rich, red, love”; 
these Dick had said, were all she knew, and these 
had been the price ! the price! She stormed 
about the room, “the Chamber of Peace,” in im- 
potent rage, like a wild, caged animal ; then flung 
herself upon the bed and sobbed until, wearied 
out, she fell asleep. She was such a child, so 
unused to questioning life and her own heart ! 


CHAPTER VI 


“WPIAT THE WORLD SAID” 

For several days Carina kept her room, plead- 
ing a severe headache; but at last she grew so 
sick of her own wretched company she could en- 
dure it no longer, and slipped down into the gar- 
den. When Donald found her there, and sug- 
gested that she might like to drive over with him 
to see one of his friends who was sick, she gladly 
assented. Anything to take her weary thoughts 
from herself! They stopped at a charming little 
white cottage framed by a pine grove. At one 
window sat a pale, thin woman, with suffering 
painted in every line of her drawn face ; but, 
when they went in, she greeted them in a bright, 
cheery way. Evidently Donald was a frequent, 
and most welcome visitor; and Carina found the 
hour she spent there all too short. 

After that, she often went as far as Mrs. Lane’s 
with Donald, when he drove to town in the wagon ; 
and Mrs. Lane took a great fancy to the beauti- 
ful girl, too, and learned to look forward eagerly 
to her visits. 

From time to time people of the neighborhood 
came in to see Janet MacDonald; among them 
51 


52 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


some who were very comical and amusing to Ca- 
rina. As she sat one day in the low rocker, out 
on the broad step by the sitting room! door, shell- 
ing peas, a queer, slabsided, angular woman in a 
brown sunbonnet came into the yard, slamming 
the garden gate after her. “Oh ! excuse me,” she 
said; “didn’t know you was here. I’m Alviry 
Rush; neighbor you know. Oh! don’t you.?^ 
Well! I guess I know you^ without any intro- 
duction. Theater actress, ain’t you.^ Yes, I 
knew what you was, first time I saw you. I 
should think you was about well enough to go 
home, ain’t you.'^ Probably ain’t got any home. 
Husband? No? Well, had a lot of them, I sup- 
pose. I’ve read a deal about your kind in the 
papers ; always getting new ones. Never met a 
real actress before. What? ain’t one? Oh, you 
can’t work me with that yarn. I’m not so green, 
if I do live up in the country. No, you can’t 
work me as you do Donald MacDonald. He's 
gone daft over you; wandering out along the 
brook ; lying round talking to you instead of do- 
ing his chores. I want to know what his ma’s 
thinking of, to let you stay here making him 
silly. 

“Say ! there’s no use in your trying to get him. 
There is plenty for him right here to home. La ! 
what am I saying? You don’t belong here; you 
know that yourself. Oh! howdy, Mrs. MacDon- 
ald. I came over to borrow your parlor lamp 
for this evening. Young folks coming to have 


“WHAT THE WORLD SAID” 53 

a little music. Say ! make Donald come, won’t 
you.?” 

Carina had sat fascinated by the cruel rude- 
ness of the coarse woman before her, but only 
one speech stayed in her mind, and kept ringing 
in her ears, ‘‘You don’t belong here; you know 
that yourself.” Yes, she did know it. She did 
not need the cheap, “frank” person rocking in 
self-righteous pride there on the door stone to 
tell her that. Her own heart had been crying 
it out for days ; ever since — she shuddered at 
the memory of the night she had been trying to 
forget. 

Several days later Donald drove up to the door 
one afternoon and called to her from his buggy, 
“A little drive, your majesty.?” She went up- 
stairs for her hat, and soon was left again at 
Mrs. Lane’s gate. When conversation seemed to 
lag, Mrs. Lane said, “Go into the front room 
and get my pictures on the center table there, 
my dear. I will show them to you.” Carina 
went into the stiff, musty front room, and took 
up the red, plush album, with its tinsel, silver 
name and corners, and its hypocritical look of 
solidity, and, smiling a little, carried it back into 
the bright kitchen. Soon the two women with 
heads close together were poring over its “dread- 
ful collection of antiquities” as Carina irrever- 
ently dubbed it. Suddenly, as a page was turned, 
Dick’s face stared up at her. What was he doing 
there.? A quickly smothered exclamation broke 


54 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


from her lips. “Yes,” said her hostess in a 
pleased tone. lari’ t he handsome.^” For a mo- 
ment the old head bent low over the album. 

“My boy, my little baby boy,” — the voice 
broke, — “grown up now and gone away.” Sud- 
denly the aged woman flung her arms around Ca- 
rina’s neck. “O ! my dear, my dear,” she cried, 
“he — I haven’t seen him for five years. He has 
forgotten me, forsaken his old mother, who loves 
him so, for — for a vile, wicked woman! He does 
not even use his own name any longer. Perhaps 
he is ashamed of it. And it’s such a good, honest 
name, John Lane. Why should he be ashamed of 
it? He wrote to me sometimes at first, and sent 
me money ; but he doesn’t any longer ; and he 
never comes home.” 

Carina had sunk before the wretched woman 
and looked up into her face, her own as white as 
death. She could not speak, only listen in a 
frozen sort of way. “He doesn’t even know 
whether I am alive or not, his own mother.” For 
a while she sobbed. Carina roused herself and 
put her arm about the withered form. “Someone 
who knew him saw him driving one day last year 
in the city with a yellow-haired creature decked 
out in silks and laces, and out of curiosity fol- 
lowed him and her to the place where they lived. 
The man at the door said he didn’t know any 
J ohn Lane ; Mr. Richard Corwin lived there. My 
son sunk to the gutter I living with — ” 

She stopped a moment, while a terrible look 


“WHAT THE WORLD SAID” 


55 


came into her eyes. “Oh, if I could see that 
miserable, wicked creature who has ruined him ! 
If I could tell her to her face what she has done 
to him, what she has made him do ! Look at 
him. Does he look like a bad boy, my John? 
And now he has broken my heart ; his mother’s 
heart, do you hear?” 

Carina shrank from the wretched woman and 
knelt staring up into her distorted face, as the 
wild words were poured out, feeling as though she 
were drowning, suffocating in the flood, and 
should never be able to breathe again. 

“I wish I could tell her how I hate her, hate 
her.” The blue eyes grew cold, and hard, and 
the voice rose to a shriek! “God punish her — ” 
Carina could bear it no longer. “Don’t, douHT* 
she cried. “Perhaps — perhaps you are unjust to 
her, perhaps she isn’t wicked, only — only igno- 
rant, alone, friendless, motherless ; a thoughtless 
child who didn’t realize what it all meant; who 
had no one to teach her about things, to pro- 
tect her. Couldn’t you forgive her then? 
CouldnH youV^ She drew the woman toward 
her, and shook her almost fiercely, while her voice 
rose to a shrill despairing cry — “Couldn’t 
you?” 

“Never, never,” muttered the woman. “To 
forget his mother for such a — person? No, no; 
I could never forgive her.” 

Carina’s face grew more and more rigid. She 
sought about in her mind for some other plea. 


56 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


She could not tell her that she was the woman. 
There were these others to remember ; these — 
others ! When Mrs. Lane’s fury had subsided a 
little, the girl asked her in a cold, harsh voice 
she could not recognize as her own, “Would all 
women with — souls — feel like that.? Would — ” 
her voice broke, and the room seemed to grow 
dark about her “would Mrs. MacDonald, if such 
a one cared for her son, — would she curse her 
too.?” She gazed wildly into the woman’s face, 
her own quivering with eagerness and apprehen- 
sion. 

“Of course. How can you ask such a ques- 
tion.? Any mother would. A — snake — ” 

“But,” Carina persisted, “if she learned it was 
all a dreadful — mistake?” 

“Child, there are no such ^mistakes,’ they all 
know what they are about. I tell you any 
mother would curse her, as I do the one who 
ruined my boy.” 

“No! no!” Carina screamed, “not that”; and 
she covered her ears to shut out the dreadful 
words. 

It had grown dark in the room. Carina rose 
painfully and looked about for her hat; then 
stooped down and kissed the sobbing woman’s 
hand. “I think I won’t wait longer for Mr. Mac- 
Donald.” She fled out into the night. There 
was only one thought clear in her mind. She 
must go away ; she must never see the dear family 
again, never go into the beloved home, into the 


“WHAT THE WORLD SAID” 


57 


“Chamber of Peace.” She must go back to Dick ; 
there was nothing else to do. She would tell him 
about his mother, who had come to her husband’s 
old home, and among strangers who did not know 
of her shame. She would tell him how she was 
alone, dying of a broken heart; and then — ^What 
then ? She did not know. There was no answer ; 
only she must go. 

Mrs. MacDonald would turn her out, if she 
knew. She must never know. And Donald? 
Donald! Donald! A low moan broke from her 
lips. She threw herself face downward on the 
damp ground, clutching the long grass, tearing 
it out like some frenzied thing in her unbearable 
agony. “Donald! and I love him. O my God, 
I love him!” 

She sat up suddenly and listened. There was 
a sound of wheels. With a supreme effort she 
got to her feet again and stumbled on. He must 
not find her now; he must not. She could not 
bear it. 

Presently a cheerful “hello” greeted her ear. 
She steadied herself as best she could and replied 
to his call: “I’m going to walk home; it will do 
me good.” 

“All right, if you are sure it won’t be too far” ; 
and she heard his gay whistle sounding farther 
and farther away. 

“How happy, and good he is !” she whispered 
to her aching heart. “No, I do not belong here. 
I will go away.” She dragged her heavy feet 


58 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


along. They almost refused to obey her will. 
But where should she go? There was no train, 
she remembered; she could not go to-night; but 
to-morrow she could make some excuse. Her 
ankle ached and a faintness seemed to be steal- 
ing over her senses. What if she fell there in 
the road alone and died of a broken heart 
People sometimes did; but she was too young 
and strong. She stared wildly about her. 
Surely there was the gate into the meadow ! 
She would go over to the willow by the brook 
once more, where they had spent so many happy 
hours ; she would sit there and rest just for a 
last visit, just once more. 

For a moment, after she reached the sheltering 
limb, she forgot everything. The first time Don- 
ald had played to her they had sat here together 
on the bent old tree. His mood was gay then, 
and the tones seemed to leap, prance, and revel 
in mad, exultant glee ; they had flirted and carolled 
in an exquisite exuberance of hilarity. They 
seemed to mock at life, even while they caroused, 
taking all joy with passionate abandon. At first 
Carina had been too amazed at the artist’s skill 
quite to understand this revelation of youthful 
joy and strength, spending itself in musical 
ecstasy; then an answer awoke in her own na- 
ture. This was music. She had never read 
Milton’s “L’ Allegro,” but she, too, knew this was 
the primitive, untempered joy of living. Had 
she not often felt it coursing through her own 


“WHAT THE WORLD SAID” 


59 


veins, striving to come to expression, this joy 
of living? 

Then it was right that one should live to the 
“richest, fullest degree,” as highest art pictured 
it. But had she ever known what those words 
really meant? Had she not put a wrong inter- 
pretation upon them so far? Even Dick felt it 
sometimes, and — laughed with other men at her. 

Suddenly Donald’s mood had changed. The 
dancing stopped with a strange clangor of dis- 
cordant tones. A silence followed. She almost 
held her breath, waiting for what might follow. 
Then a plaintive minor strain wailed out haunt- 
ingly. Over and over it sang itself, growing 
fuller and deeper. Carina knew what that 
meant, too. She knew now that this “joy” might 
only last a short time; that sometimes it ended 
with a shock, sometimes in a wail; there was need 
of something more, she was beginning to under- 
stand. She had begun up there in “The Cham- 
ber of Peace ;” more, infinitely more, there must 
be, she reasoned gropingly. 

Involuntarily, as he played, she had risen and 
straightened herself to her full height. Then her 
voice rang out with almost regal authority. 
“Mr. MacDonald, you cannot stay here on this 
farm. You must not. You must go away, and 
sing to — souls.” Carina caught at the familiar 
word. “They need you out there in the world; 
they need you, I know how much.” 

“My mother — ” Donald began. 


60 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“Your mother,” the girl interrupted eagerly, 
“dare not hold you here; she dare not. There 
is nothing here but dumb, useless endurance and 
self-sacrifice. It is not enough of a reason; it 
is a waste.” 

“I thought you would understand,” he answered 
softly. 

Carina did not know how or why she had un- 
derstood. Something in her nature, a certain 
dramatic, artistic instinct, or sense of values 
which, though not knowledge, was unerring in 
its guidance, told her this man was unfulfilled; 
that he must break the bonds which only held his 
body here, and let his spirit seek its own; the 
great creators of the world, the men who could 
attain to high and splendid ideals should be his 
companions, and friends; he must find them, and 
learn their art, so as to train, and curb his won- 
derful genius to best expression. The man must 
be aroused to assert himself, to break away from 
the dominion of a will which had hitherto con- 
trolled him. The mother did not really need him, 
and these other sorrowing, faltering hearts did. 

At last Donald spoke again sadly, 

“I see no way out.” 

“Then you must make a way,” she had said, 
throwing up her head imperiously and holding 
out her hand to him, as if it had been a scepter. 
“Courage, friend ! I thank you more than words 
can express that you have played to me ; I 
needed it too. There must be a way out of any 


‘‘WHAT THE WORLD SAID” 61 

place which is” — she caught her breath quickly 
— “is not best for one’s — soul.” 

She was learning fast, this beautiful pagan, 
this undeveloped, starved child of nature, this 
“soulless” woman ! 

When she reached her room that night she sat 
hour after hour looking out at the silent, steady 
stars until the faint glimmer of the summer morn- 
ing stole up into the eastern sky, then threw her- 
self upon the bed, exhausted with her vigil, a 
night watch with a naked soul. 


CHAPTER VII 


THE CRISIS 

And now had come this other day,, with its 
revelations ; this perfect night darkened by its 
fearful, crushing sorrow! The truths of her life 
had stared at her, and she at them ; and neither 
could ever fail to recognize the other again. 
Obscuring mists of evil desires and ignorant 
thoughtlessness had been ruthlessly torn aside. 
So far as she had seen she had seen clearly. 
This which she had feared, too, had come upon 
her, love; and it had come with sudden, awful 
power, only to be put away, crushed out. 

She must love him always, but she must send 
him away, out of her life, out of his own, away 
to his fulfilment, and then go her own way alone. 
She must do without them all, love, the beauty of 
life, home, little children. The blood seemed to 
leave her heart. She leaned back against the old 
tree, faint and confused. 

They had never talked about his going since 
that first night. It was not a matter to be sub- 
ject for idle or merry hours ; but neither had for- 
gotten. Now, before she went, she must urge him 
again. 

Presently her brain cleared. She must keep 
62 


THE CRISIS 


63 


it clear for the work of the next hours ; she must 
think out a way for her feet : first to get back to 
the city, away from “The Chamber of Peace,” 
away from this home of purity and whiteness. 
She would hide nothing from Dick ; she could 
never speak anything again but the truth to him 
or anyone else ; never live anything but the truth. 

The Master Janet MacDonald and her son 
loved had said to that other woman, “Neither do 
I condemn thee ; go and sin no more.” That was 
the woman’s part, “and sin no more.’’ She could 
do that ; it would be no sacrifice to her, surely ; 
only a joy, only a freedom. She could begin all 
over again. Someone would take her in and give 
her a chance, of course, even if it were not a per- 
son with a soul. She shuddered as she remem- 
bered Mrs. Lane’s face and heard again her 
words. There were surely plenty of places 
where she could work ; perhaps in some home 
where there were little children. She would like 
that. 

As she rested on the friendly old tree, thinking 
of her future, a sort of peace came into her heart. 
It whispered in the quiet, gentle murmur of the 
brook. Now and then a fish leaped into the 
moonlight, scattering a plash of tiny, glittering 
drops. Somewhere in the hills a whip-poor-will 
called, and then a cuckoo beat out his curious 
tones. She had come to love all these sweet 
sounds. The restful silences and the sharp shad- 
ows of the night, also, had no terrors for her. 


64 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Presently she heard a new sound, an anxious call 
in the distance; and with a glad bark Hector 
threw himself upon her, and Donald came quickly 
to her side. 

“Great Scott ! you have given us a fright !” he 
said breathlessly. “I have been looking for you 
all along the road. Hector insisted on coming 
across the meadow. Good old boy, you knew 
best and he patted the beautiful head. “What 
is it.? are you ill, or lonesome, or homesick for 
your city once more.?” 

“No, no; not that. I love it all here,” she 
protested eagerly. “I love it all. I am only a 
little tired, and it looked so pleasant and peaceful 
here by the brook, I — ” 

“But your supper is waiting,” he urged. 

“I could not eat to-night; it — it would be a 
shame to waste the time in — such a common way.” 
She laughed confusedly, eager to hide her real 
heart, glad all through to have him near a few 
minutes longer of this “last day,” this last day of 
— life. 

“Don’t you think I would better go to the 
house for a wrap.? It is growing a little cool, 
and I can tell mother you are safe. She was wor- 
ried about you — ” 

“And your violin, too.?” she asked timidly. 

“Yes, indeed, if you like.” 

“My own lute is a little unstrung to-night,” 
she added sadly. 

“I knew something was troubling you. 


THE CRISIS 


65 


Couldn’t you tell me about it? Perhaps I could 
help a little,” Donald suggested softly. 

‘‘Oh, no ; one doesn’t want to talk in such moon- 
light. That would be a waste, too,” she an- 
swered with an effort at gaiety. 

“I will be right back. Hector, keep good 
watch over her majesty; don’t let anything harm 
her.” 

The dog seated himself close to Carina and laid 
his head against her hand. Donald looked at him 
a moment, with a firm shutting of his lips, as 
though words struggled for utterance and could 
only be restrained by a definite, physical effort; 
then he turned away, and walked quickly toward 
the house. 

It was a perfect night, and, for the time, Carina 
was able to push back the cruel words that had 
been ringing in her ears and remember the present 
moment. Only two or three times before had she 
heard Donald play as he did to-night. She let 
the exquisite music sink into her soul. It seemed 
to intoxicate her as it was poured out in full, rich, 
throbbing passion of sorrow or in tender plead- 
ing, as though her heart were being wooed from 
her trouble into the sheltering arms of love, or in 
wave after wave of passionate longing that 
seemed to engulf her whole being. She leaned 
forward with parted lips, her face quivering in 
response to the power which seemed to master her, 
and, when the tones swelled into a splendid march 
to victory, sang of achievement and the joy of 


66 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


conquest, she covered her face with her hands and 
sobbed aloud. Instantly Donald laid his instru- 
ment down, and, kneeling by her side, drew the 
hands from her bowed head, and kissed them pas- 
sionately, whispering eager words of love. 

“Rina, Rina, my precious darling, you are cry- 
ing. What have I done.? Tell me. Don’t do 
that. I cannot bear it. I only meant to — 
What did it say to you.? Can’t you answer me.? 
Sweetheart, listen to me. Did it show you my 
heart.? I meant it to. Did it tell you I am go- 
ing to love you away from all sorrow, win you all 
for myself, make you love me, you splendid queen 
of women, my goddess, mine, all mine.? Did you 
hear it in my song.? Why don’t you answer me.? 
Your face is wet; let me kiss the tears away from 
the sweet eyes. I can’t see you suffer. Tell 
me what troubles you, please, dearest, please.” 

Carina let him plead. She must hear it once, 
just once. It was so wondrously beautiful! and 
must last her all her life. She caught his hands 
in hers. 

“Donald — ” She strained every nerve to con- 
trol her aching heart. 

“Yes, yes 1” he cried eagerly, wild with delight 
at hearing his name from her lips for the first 
time. 

“Donald, I cannot have your love. It is im- 
possible. You must never speak to me of it 
again, never. You must not touch me. You 
must only forget that you ever knew me.” 


THE CRISIS 


67 


Donald drew himself nearer and tried to put 
his arms around her; but she held him back and 
rose unsteadily, while her voice grew cold and 
harsh with the awful strain for self-control. 
Dimly she felt that the great pivotal moment had 
come for him as well as for herself. She must 
make him understand the utter impossibility of 
this which he thought now he wanted more than 
anything else in the world. She must show him 
his great duty to himself, so that he would see; 
and yet, she had no strength or wisdom for the 
task. She looked down upon the curly head 
bowed before her, and an agony of love surged 
through her. Why might she not have this great 
boon life was offering her.? She had had so lit- 
tle ; why might she not put her arms around him 
and hold him there against her hungry, tortured 
heart.? She would love him so, love him so! She 
stretched out her arms toward him, but, when 
he looked up into her face, let them fall limply. 

“Rina, Rina, have you nothing to give me? I 
will not believe it,” he cried. 

Once more she gathered her forces, almost 
spent in the conflict. “It is absolutely impossi- 
ble, Donald. If you love me, an utter stranger 
to you, trust me even more when I say it can 
never be.” 

Donald sprang to his feet. “Is it that other 
man who brought you here? Who is he? What 
is he to you? Your husband? I know he is not 
that. Your lover?” 


68 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


A low moan burst from Carina’s white lips : 
‘‘Do not ask me about him. I can tell you noth- 
ing, only that I — I am unworthy of your love, of 
any man’s love. Do you hear, Donald.^” 

“My God!” he whispered in agony. “You 
don’t mean — ” For a moment he stood looking 
at the cowering woman before him, horror and 
incredulity in his staring eyes, and then, for what 
seemed ages to the tortured girl, Donald Mac- 
Donald paced back and forth by the babbling 
brook. 

Carina sank back against the old willow and 
waited, waited, waited. Would he never speak? 
Suddenly he turned to her again and said in a 
broken voice, vibrating with tender love, “Noth- 
ing makes any difference, sweetheart. Nothing 
matters at all, Carina mia. Forgive me. I ask 
no questions of your life, of your past ; it all be- 
longs to you; I trust you utterly. Something 
in me tells me that I may. Have I not learned to 
love your pure heart and white soul? You say 
I do not know you. Whatever there is, whatever 
there may have been, I believe in you and love 
you. Nothing can change that fact. One ques- 
tion of the present is all I ask. Before God an- 
swer it truthfully, Carina.” He took the listless 
hands in his again, and, lifting them tenderly, 
held them against his heart. 

“Do you love anyone? Have I not a right, 
the right of my great love for you, to ask it?” 


THE CRISIS 


69 


‘‘Yes, Donald, I do love with all the strength 
of my nature, with all the best of me. It will 
be my salvation ; it will be the one love of my 
whole life, but I must live that life alone.” 

“Rina,” he cried, “you love me. You cannot 
deny it; you dare not.” He caught her to his 
heart in a transport of joy. 

For a few moments she forgot everything, past, 
future, in his presence, in his warm, sheltering 
arms, in the kisses of his pure, real love, the first 
she had ever had and the last she could ever hope 
to know. Finally she said, “It is good-bye, dear 
heart, dear love, forever. You must go out into 
your life, and I into mine. Our ways can never 
meet again. You have said you trusted me ; now 
prove your words.” 

“Yes,” he answered, “I have said so, and I will 
wait and work, but I will never give you up. 
There is not the dogged, persistent blood of my 
Scotch ancestors in me for nothing. It may be 
tempered by a soft Italian strain and a passion- 
ate southern tenderness, but it is there. I can 
wait until the obstacle between us, whatever it 
may be, is overcome, but I shall find you, and you 
will have to be mine.” He clenched his fists and 
threw back his head in the masterful way she had 
smiled at so often, just like his mother, and 
she knew his eyes had grown blue and hard as 
steel. 

“Whatever you think is between us, I shall con- 


70 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


quer, even though I must follow you to the end 
of the earth; and I give you fair warning. I 
shall -find yow. Now, come, dear; we must go; it 
grows late.” 

‘‘The mother,” Carina whispered, “must not 
know.f^” 

“Not now,” he answered gently. 

He took her to the side door, where he held her 
fiercely against his heart once more, kissing her 
hair, and eyes, and lips. It seemed to the an- 
guished, exhausted woman as though he would 
never let her go. 

With the masterly self-control she had learned 
in the miserably hard days of her youth at Mrs. 
Dole’s, Carina answered Janet MacDonald’s 
greeting and anxious questioning cheerfully, even 
gaily, as she stepped out of the night, which had 
grown clouded and strangely chill, into the bright 
sitting-room. She found a protected corner and 
sat down to wait for prayers. Presently Donald 
came in quietly and took a chair where he could 
not see her. Janet did not look into her son’s 
face when he entered the room, but said, as she 
adjusted her glasses, “Mr. Jacobs wants you to 
go to town with him early in the morning to look 
at those cows. Can you be ready by seven 
o’clock.?” 

“Yes, mother,” Donald answered gravely. 

“ ‘Though your sins be as scarlet, they shall 
be as white as snow ; though they be red as crim- 
son, they shall be as wool.’” Janet closed the 


THE CRISIS 


71 


book quickly after reading those words, and Ca- 
rina could all her after life remember how it 
sounded through the quiet room when she laid the 
book down upon the little round table. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE BATTLE ON 

Early the next morning Donald was off. Ca- 
rina, crouching behind her closed shutters, 
watched him through the slats, straining her eyes, 
blinded with tears, to catch the last glimpse of 
his form in the distance. He turned his eyes 
toward her window once, and Carina saw that 
his face was white and drawn, as though he had 
watched through the night. When he came back, 
she said to herself, she would be gone; and it 
would be better so. She had received a note and 
a check from Dick the evening before. She could 
easily find an excuse in that for a sudden depart- 
ure. Donald could send her trunk on later. 

When everything was packed she put on her 
auto suit and hat, went around the “Chamber of 
Peace” once more, touching all the well-known 
objects lovingly and stifling a sob that would rise 
in her throat; then she went quietly down to the 
kitchen to find Janet MacDonald. It was a long 
time before she could make the good woman un- 
derstand that she must go away. She could not 
tell her the truth, and would not tell a lie. Janet 
urged her to wait, at least until Donald’s return, 
so that he might take her to the station properly. 

72 


THE BATTLE ON 


73 


She could not realize that the beautiful girl was 
actually going out of her life, but she felt an im- 
pulse to temporize in some way, to hold her back 
from her purpose. Surely Donald would per- 
suade her! 

“No,” Carina answered, “I shall enjoy the 
walk across the meadow. Say good-bye to Mr. 
MacDonald for me. Tell him — I had to go. I 
can never, never forget what you have done for 
me. I cannot tell you what it has all — meant.” 
Here the brave voice broke. “No mother could 
have done more. Good-bye. God bless you — and 
him.” 

Carina hurried down the path and across the 
well-known meadow, the shortest way back to the 
city, away from it all. An hour later she was 
facing its dust, its noise, its pain, and her future 
work. But first, Dick I 

When the train rolled into the Grand Central 
Station, she walked through the massive iron 
gates to the Cab-stand automatically. It seemed 
to her that she had died and this was only her 
form walking like a machine among other ma- 
chines. She was numb with the pain about her 
heart. She gave the driver her order and leaned 
back in the carriage. Could machines feel ut- 
terly weary.? Yes, she was sure they must feel 
just so when the oil had given out and they were 
dry and dusty. 

The great apartment house looked just the 
same when she reached it as on that morning 


74 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


when she and Dick had driven away with no 
thought excepting to make a record run and eat 
a ‘‘prime dinner” at a certain distant, well-regu- 
lated inn ; and that was only three months ago ! 

There was the marble flight of steps, with brass 
rails, very well kept, very shiny. She had 
thought it “swagger.” Yes, that was the dread- 
ful word she and “the girls” used with which to 
describe it. A porter in livery opened the door 
and looked at her queerly. She nodded to him 
and stepped back to the elevator. The boy in 
charge was a stranger. She said briefly, “Suite 
seven, please.” He touched the bell and in a mo- 
ment more she stood before the well-known door. 
A pretty, neat maid answered her ring and looked 
at her questioningly. 

“Is Mr. Corwin in?” 

“Who, Miss?” 

“Mr Richard Corwin,” Carina answered 
haughtily. 

“You’ve made a mistake. Miss, he doesn’t live 
here.” 

“Isn’t this suite seven?” Carina persisted. 

“Yes, Miss.” 

As soon as she could master her surprise, she 
questioned the girl again. 

“May I ask who does live here?” 

“Oh yes. Miss ; Mrs. Jones. Did you inquire 
at the office?” And the girl closed the door part 
way, suggestively. 

Carina turned away abruptly, rang for the ele- 


THE BATTLE ON 


75 


vator, and stepped into it, almost too dazed to 
think of a next move. ‘‘Mr. Corwin gave up his 
suite and went south a month or so ago,” was all 
the clerk could tell her at the office, looking at 
her, first with surprise, and then a half smile, 
which brought the hot blood into Carina’s cheeks. 

Then Dick’s note with the check had been for- 
warded to New York to be sent her by someone 
else, that she might not know. She would go 
around to Mamie Clyde’s. She would certainly 
know about Dick’s movements. 

Mamie received her in an offhand, indifferent 
manner, and seemed surprised to find she was in 
town. She dismissed the subject of “Dick” in one 
startling, paralyzing sentence. 

“Just as if you didn’t know he had married a 
swell and gone to Europe 1 Don’t try to be 
funny, silly.” 

This flippant girl, at least, should not know 
how ignorant she was of Dick’s affairs. So she 
answered lightly, “Yes, queer thing for him to do, 
wasn’t She looked at the girl before her 

with wondering eyes. How had she ever thought 
her pretty and clever ? How had she ever wanted 
her for a friend and companion? And yet, they 
had spent so many, many hours together in that 
far distant past. 

All day she visited among her former friends, 
everywhere meeting the same tragic indifference. 
Evidently she was quite a different factor in their 
lives, without Dick’s personality to protect her 


76 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


and make a reason for her presence among them, 
these gay, light-hearted flitters along life’s broad 
pathway. And these were her — friends ! 

The evening came on. Where to go for the 
night, she did not know. After having paid 
Janet MacDonald for her board and bought the 
railway ticket, there was still a little money in 
her purse. Of course Dick had written her of 
his plans and the letter had somehow miscarried. 
He must have explained matters and arranged for 
her. He could not have cast her off without a 
word, though she could no longer take his money, 
if she starved. That, however, was an impos- 
sible, inconceivable alternative. She, with her 
abounding strength, courage, youth, starve.? 
She stretched her strong young arms exultingly 
before her. Work? What did she care about 
that? Of course she could work. 

Coming to a little park, she sat down upon a 
seat to rest and think more clearly. Something 
must be decided at once. The strain of the last 
few hours was beginning to tell on her. The 
nervous strength on which she had gone through 
the long day was used up. Her weak ankle ached 
intolerably. There must be some quiet place 
where she could spend the night, if she only knew 
just where. Her mind seemed unable to grasp 
the fact that Dick had made so easy, that she 
had dreaded, the parting between them. An ache 
came into her heart as she began to realize that, 
after all, she had meant nothing to him but com- 


THE BATTLE ON 77 

radeship, and that he had turned to another, who 
had more to give his present needs, as lightly as 
he would have turned his powerful motor car with 
one impulse of his will. Tears of pain and 
pique stole down her cheeks as a sense of her utter 
loneliness crept over her. She was homeless, 
friendless, an orphan, deserted, absolutely alone 
in the great, noisy, self-absorbed city! 

It had grown almost dark. Whither should she 
turn.? Slow, heavy steps came near, and a gruff 
voice said, “What are you doing here.? You 
want to go home, you know.” 

She looked up into a “cop’s” immobile face and 
started with an exclamation of pain. How fa- 
miliar the words sounded! Even his utterly im- 
personal tone of authority, how well she knew it ! 
and the insistence too with which he would see 
that she did “move on!” 

There had been Mrs. Dole’s in other days. 
There was not even that place of refuge now. “I 
beg your pardon,” she said haughtily, rising to 
her superb, dignified height. “Will you kindly 
tell me of some quiet, inexpensive hotel, or board- 
ing-house, where a stranger, a lady, can spend 
the night.?” 

The officer looked at her suspiciously, and then 
gave an address on a side street near by. Carina 
thanked him and walked quickly away. 

“Places enough for her in this hell. But she 
didn’t look quite like them folks, neither,” he mut- 
tered. 


78 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Early the next morning, Carina started out 
with a hopeful, courageous heart, to find work. 
A good night’s sleep had rested her and cleared 
her brain. A feeling came to her that an awful, 
unbearable load had been lifted from her shoul- 
ders by Dick’s settling matters between them in 
his own lawless way, a new, strange feeling of 
freedom of mind and body, an eager looking for- 
ward to the taking of her place honestly at last in 
life, that buoyed her up. 

Day after day she tramped the streets. There 
were always the same two questions. “What can 
you do.? What are your references.?” Always 
the same admiration in men’s eyes, suspicion in 
women’s. Her very striking beauty seemed to be 
a barrier between them. They were all appar- 
ently either afraid of her or eager to lure her to 
destruction ; but no hand was stretched out to 
help ; no one seemed to care about her or imagine 
she needed friendship. Several men said, “If you 
will learn typewriting, we will assure you a good 
place,” and, leered into her eyes or slapped her on 
the shoulder familiarly and jocosely, only laugh- 
ing at her startled look of fright. 

At last her money and the jewelry, Dick’s pres- 
ents, that she had meant to give back, were gone, 
and she must leave the respectable hotel that had 
sheltered her for the time. Bitterness of soul 
began to take the place of bright hope; a sense 
of unfairness that there seemed to be no faith in 
the work-a-day world, no chance for her to 


THE BATTLE ON 


79 


be honest. And she had thought it would be so 
easy to take her place ! 

Of kindly Christians and charitable institu- 
tions, she knew nothing; so at last a night came, 
when she drifted again into the lighted park and 
sat down upon one of its benches in complete 
weariness of body, and mind, not one penny in her 
pocketbook. Presently a young, faultlessly 
groomed man came up and sat down by her 
side. 

“My dear, you look lonesome. That’s queer 
for a devilishly handsome girl like you.” 

Carina turned wearily and looked into his evil 
face, then fled down the street, with a moan like 
some wounded animal. Her eyes were blinded, 
and her brain seemed to reel. A thought came 
like a flash. Of course, there were places where 
she would be welcome; where it was bright and 
warm ; where her beauty would be decked out with 
exquisite garments ; where she would be treated 
with the greatest solicitude. She had tried to be 
honest, but there was no place for her. She had 
certainly tried to “sin no more.” What was the 
use? She could not hold out against them all. 
She loved beauty, and ease, and comfort, too. 
She put her fingers into her ears and hurried 
along in the darkness. Suddenly she struck her 
foot against a stone curbing and fell full length 
upon the pavement. For a moment she was 
partly unconscious. A carriage drove up and a 
gentleman stepped out. He stooped over her and 


80 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


an exclamation of surprise and admiration broke 
from his lips. 

“You are hurt, Miss,” he said, in a soft, cul- 
tured voice. “Come with me,” and he helped 
the exhausted girl up the steps, and into a bril- 
liantly-lighted house. Gay, elegantly gowned 
women greeted the new comer and crowded 
around his companion. Someone brought wine, 
and presently Carina was seated in an easy chair 
in the midst of a jolly, lively company. Some- 
one was playing a violin. A strain caught Ca- 
rina’s attention that she had heard Donald play 
down by the brook. A soft hand stole over hers, 
and the cultured voice whispered in her ear. 
The girl stared about her in surprise and be- 
wilderment, and then a look of horror grew in 
her eyes. Before anyone could guess what she 
was about to do she ran out of the room and down 
the hall to the door. A colored man, almost a 
giant in size and strength, stood there, and, in- 
stantly divining her purpose, set himself against 
the door. Carina rallied her wearied forces once 
more and tried frantically to push or pull him 
away, to the great amusement of a laughing, 
mocking crowd, which by this time had gathered 
at the far end of the hall. An imposing woman, 
with a keen, hard face which must once have been 
handsome, came up, and, telling Carina not to be 
a fool in the face of friends, ordered the man in 
a quick, sharp voice to take her to No. 8. 

Dragging or lifting her along, the man forced 


THE BATTLE ON 


81 


the girl up two flights of stairs, and, pushing 
her into a room, shut and locked the door. For 
a moment Carina was breathless and almost 
stunned, then anxiously looked about her. It was 
a large room, with two windows. The girl rushed 
to them, trying to raise the sashes, but in vain; 
both were securely fastened. She looked out into 
the night, but there was no one to whom she could 
signal. In her desperation she smashed a pane, 
and, putting her head through the opening, 
shouted for help. No one was in sight; the alley, 
and courtyards upon which her room opened, were 
deserted. Again and again she cried aloud. It 
seemed incredible that there should be no one to 
help. In despair she sat down in a chair and 
looked around her prison. At least, no one 
should enter the room that night, she resolved. 
With the morning a way of escape might be 
found. She looked eagerly for something with 
which to bar the door. It was a beautiful room, 
luxuriously furnished; every article for a lady’s 
comfort was at hand. Carina quickly found a 
strong pair of scissors, which she opened and 
drove with all her might into the door frame, 
pounding it in with the base of a bronze statuette 
which stood upon the mantel. Then, pushing a 
heavy mahogany bureau over against the door, 
she took out the castors which to her joy she 
found were detachable, and, with this barricade, 
began to feel courage return. 

Though faint from lack of food, and worn out 


82 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


with the terrible strain of the day and its awful 
ending, she went to bed and was soon asleep. The 
little crystal clock on the mantel was striking 
eight before she awoke the next morning. 
Though her head was dizzy from hunger, she 
dressed quickly, and, feeling that she must have 
something to eat, cleared the door so that it 
could be opened. She felt sure they would not 
try to starve her without at least attempting to 
find out what her mood was after the night. 

No sooner was she ready than a key turned in 
the lock and a sweet, wholesome-faced maid came 
in with a tray on which was a most tempting 
breakfast. The girl looked around the room in 
amazement, after she had closed and locked the 
door and put the key into her pocket. 

“Why! Miss, what have you been doing.?” she 
stammered, looking at the broken windows and 
the disordered furniture. 

“Trying to make someone hear me through the 
window, and, when I couldn’t do that, making sure 
no one could enter my room,” Carina replied. 
The girl opened her eyes and mouth in surprise. 
She looked at the beautiful woman before her, 
as though she could not believe her senses. 

“Didn’t you want to stay here. Miss.? Why 
did you come, then.? Oh, why did you come.?” 
She clasped her hands, and gazed eagerly into 
Carina’s face. Carina told her of the last even- 
ing’s experiences and, for some reason, appealed 
to the girl for help. 


THE BATTLE ON 


SS 


“Is there no possible way by which I can get 
out of this, send word to the police — to my fr — ?” 
She stopped as the thought came to her that she 
had no friends who could come to her aid, not 
one in all the great city. , 

“Oh! I don’t know of any way. Miss”; and 
suddenly the girl sank on her knees, and, putting 
her head in a chair, cried as though her heart 
would break. 

Carina turned from her painful thoughts in 
astonishment at the sight before her. She went 
over to the sobbing girl and laid her hand ten- 
derly on her head. 

“Are you in trouble, child.? What is it? Are 
^ou forced to stay here, too?” she asked in a 
harsh, strained voice, as the horror of the whole 
situation grew upon her. 

She paced back and forth in bitter indignation. 
At last the girl checked her sobs, and, seeing the 
pity and sympathy in Carina’s eyes, told her 
story. She had been lured from her home in 
Canada by a good-looking woman who promised 
her a fine, paying position as a domestic. She 
said she was an agent employed to get “girls” in 
Canada and Nova Scotia, and showed credentials 
which satisfied the parents ; so the simple-hearted 
people had let their daughter go, as they sorely 
needed the money she could earn. The next the 
girl knew, she had been brought to this place, 
drugged, and was now watched day and night, 
literally a prisoner. She had tried several times 


84 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


in her desperation to escape, but each time had 
been caught and threatened, until she was almost 
frantic with terror. Now she was ashamed to go 
back, even if she could find a way. 

Carina comforted the heartbroken girl with 
hope she hardly felt for herself, although she had 
determined that death should be her own deliv- 
erance, if necessary. 

“There certainly must be some way,” she told 
her. “Come to me whenever you can. We will find 
a way ; we must. Don’t lose your courage and feel 
it is too late to go home to your mother, child. 
It never can be that. We will find a way.” 

After the girl had gone Carina turned matters 
over and over, trying to think of a plan. The 
more she thought, the more hopeless it all seemed. 
If there were anyone to whom she could turn 
against this powerful house, supported by rich, 
influential men, connived at by the local police. 
Then that outside world, what had it done to help 
her.? What could she hope for, if she tried again 
to walk its unfriendly streets.? 

As she moved about the elegantly appointed 
room, her eye fell upon the partly closed closet 
door. She opened it wide, and her beauty loving 
senses were dazzled by the exquisitely dainty 
gowns hanging before her eyes. 

Without realizing what she was doing, she took 
one down from the hook, and in another minute had 
slipped it over her head. It hung in all its shim- 
mering, clinging perfectness to her supple body, 


THE BATTLE ON 


85 


the frou-frou of its silk and lace linings rustled 
behind her in the old, intoxicating way. She 
raised her head only to see in the mirror a vision 
of her own splendid beauty, enhanced by this 
suitable framing. Some delicate perfume about 
it all ravished her senses. It was hers, hers, if 
she chose ! Her eyes grew bright and eager. 
She opened the bureau drawers, too. They were 
full of beautiful, costly attire. She looked once 
more at her loveliness. No more wandering in 
the streets in a vain search for work, hard, un- 
lovely work; no ugliness of poverty; no barren, 
loveless life; ease, beauty, adulation. Here she 
could reign so long as — A look of horror grew 
in her eyes, as a clear, firm voice sounded out of 
the sudden silence within her, “If he gain the 
whole world and — ” It was Janet’s voice. An 
awful reaction came over the girl. A quick clap- 
ping of hands made her turn hastily around. A 
man had come silently into the room, and now 
stood holding out his hands to her, admiration 
and delight in his face. It was the handsome, 
refined-looking man who had lifted her from the 
street and brought her here the night before. 

In the morning light, he was even more strik- 
ing in appearance than she had thought him then. 
His hair was snow white and very curly, his eyes 
of a soft, warm grey, his mouth sweet, and, when 
he smiled, bewitching in its magnetic power. He 
was a man to love women and little children, a 
man to make a “home,” if he had not been too 


86 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


selfish and indulgent to care for anything but 
himself. Carina read his character, as one who 
ran might do. There was the gleam of an ani- 
mal in his eager eyes now, but something else, 
too, that made Carina resolve to throw 
herself upon his mercy. 

‘‘So the splendid bird is caged !” he said, laugh- 
ing, as he came nearer to her. “We will soon 
clip its wings, so that it will not want to fly 
away.” 

Carina drew herself up before he reached her, 
and stood like a stone image, all the blood driven 
from her heart. In a minute she was able to find 
her voice: “Will you kindly take a chair.?” she 
asked, not noticing his outstretched hand. He 
hesitated a moment, flushed a little, and then sat 
down. 

“May I tell you a story.?” Carina looked earn- 
estly into the man’s face. 

“Why, certainly, if it will amuse you, my 
dear,” he answered with a half-sneering laugh. 

In a simple straightforward way she told him 
of her life, her awakening, her love, and of her 
determination to live an honest life. A surprised, 
puzzled look came into his face. At first he only 
interrupted her once to say, “But those fine 
feathers.?” Carina’s face grew deathly white as 
she looked down at the billowy gown, but she went 
steadily on to the end of her story. 

The man’s face became more and more flushed. 
As she went on, his hands and feet grew restless. 


THE BATTLE ON 


87 


At last he sprang up, and walked rapidly back 
and forth in the room. When she finished with 
the plea that he would help her get away, he was 
silent for a moment, and then came and stood 
before her, looking into her beautiful eyes, one 
emotion and impulse after another picturing 
themselves in his speaking face, as though devils 
and angels were striving for victory over his soul. 

Carina, while outwardly waiting calmly, was 
in an agony of doubt and hope. At last he said, 
“I thank you for your confidence. Why you 
should have given it to me, I am sure I do not 
know; but I am not altogether a rascal, and I 
swear I will help you, if it is possible.” 

In the sudden rush of blood back to her heart, 
the room grew dark, but Carina got control of her- 
self again ; she must not fail now. She thanked him 
for his promise, and, in a few broken words, told 
him of the poor Canadian girl and begged him to 
include her in his kindness. 

His face grew very grave as she pled. ‘‘I did 
not know such things were done. I will see that 
she reaches her home. My mother — ^was a 
Canadian,” he added, while his face paled. 

At last, after discussing many plans, he said, 
“I think the best time will be the dinner hour. 
Probably yours will be brought up to you by the 
girl. Be ready to come down, both of you, well 
veiled. I will manage the porter. I have been 
coming here for years. He will suppose I am 
merely taking two ladies out for the evening, and 


88 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


I think we can carry it through all right, if you 
can arrange it with the girl. There will be a 
note from me on the tray, saying that I am wait- 
ing for you in the parlor. 

He held out his hand once more in going. Ca- 
rina looked timidly into the weak, pleasure-loving 
face, and hesitated an instant. “You are not 
quite ready to trust me, I see,” he said smiling 
grimly into her troubled face. “Well, I don’t 
exactly wonder. I will try to prove myself some- 
what worthy.” But he did not offer his hand 
again. 

When the girl brought her lunch, Carina ex- 
plained the plan for their escape. “I do not 
know why,” she said, “but, somehow, I have a 
feeling he will not fail us.” 

The girl began to sob again, while her whole 
frame trembled. “O Miss, God bless you ! I 
am so afraid. But what if anyone knows at home 
what has happened to me.? O Miss, how dare 
I go.? I can never hold up my head again. 
What if — .?” The poor girl could not finish the 
sentence, so dreadful was the horror that hung 
over her heart. 

“Tell your mother all, dear child, and, if the 
worst comes, she will stand by you. It has been 
a cruel experience, but you have not been to 
blame, and there must be a way out.” 

Unconsciously Carina used the words of com- 
fort which had sustained her own heart, and had 
to be repeated now, again and again, as a brace 


THE BATTLE ON 


89 


to her courage. With fear and trembling, at the 
dinner hour, the two girls slipped softly down 
the stairs as planned, hearing the gay voices in 
the dining-room, though every creak under their 
feet sent chills of apprehension to their hearts. 
The porter stood with his back to them as they 
silently followed their deliverer through the door. 
He could, at least, honestly say he had seen no 
one pass. A large bill hidden in his inner 
pocket helped him to quiet what conscience he 
had left. 

They went first to the station and saw the 
frightened, but happy girl, into her train. As 
they turned away, Carina’s companion asked, 
“Now where shall I take you.^” All Carina could 
think of was to go to the hotel at which she had 
stopped before her money was all gone. 

She shrank into the corner of the cab as they 
left the station, her head aching with the effort 
to think of some way out. At last she resolved 
to trust this man still further. “I — I shall still 
have to be dependent on your bounty ; I am 
utterly alone in this great city and — and penniless. 
If you will lend me money for the night, tomorrow 
I shall find work, and some day I can repay you,” 
Carina said in a broken voice. Her strength was 
fast failing her, and the morrow — what would it 
bring her.^^ What if she found no work after all.? 

Suddenly the man by her side bent forward. 
“Are you sure you are not making a mistake.?” 
Carina cowered back into the corner with a shud- 


90 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


der. “I beg your pardon,” he said, seeing the 
look of loathing in her face. “I — I do beg your 
pardon.” 

They sat in silence until the cab stopped in 
the quiet side street, then Carina found her voice 
again. This time she offered her companion her 
hand. 

“I do not know who you are or what your life 
has been, but you are treating me like an honor- 
able man, and I wish” — she caught her breath 
sharply — ‘T wish I might carry away with me 
your promise not to — to — ” her courage failed 
and her voice trailed away into silence. She cov- 
ered her burning face. 

“I understand you,” the man said gently, “and 
I should like to say, if I may, that it has been a 
great privilege to meet you, and I hope you may 
succeed in your desire. As for a promise, I am 
not ready to make any ; perhaps I know myself 
too well; but I thank you sincerely for your in- 
terest.” Bending suddenly over her hand he 
kissed it reverently ; then helped her out, gave an 
order to the driver, and sprang in again, shutting 
the door quickly behind him, as though afraid to 
trust himself. 

Safe in her room, Carina threw herself upon 
the bed, too tired even to think. Great shudder- 
ing gasps came from her weary heart and slow 
tears rolled down upon the pillow. At last she 
fell asleep, to dream of countless girls hanging 
over frightful precipices and of endless drives 
which seemed to have no goal. 


CHAPTER lx 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 

The next morning Carina started out again, 
with a number of advertisements in her pocket- 
book and fresh courage in her heart. East, 
west, north, and south, all day long she sought, 
and, at last, when night began to fall, found her- 
self so tired she could hardly drag her heavy feet 
along. Hot tears blinded her eyes so that she 
could not see her way. Turning a corner sud- 
denly, she ran against a young woman who was 
hurrying in the opposite direction with such 
force that each rebounded with an exclamation 
of pain. 

‘‘Please, please excuse me,” Carina cried, as 
she staggered back. “I could not see. I fear — 
I think I must be a little faint. Could you, per- 
haps, tell me of some place to go for the night?” 
she begged, tears streaming down her cheeks now 
unhindered. “I know nothing about such things, 
but there must be some place in this great city 
where they would take me in.” 

“Yes, there are places,” the girl answered, “but 
not near here. If there were a policeman — ” 
She looked eagerly up and down the street; none 
was in sight. She hesitated a moment, then 
91 


9a 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


said, ‘‘Why not come home with me?. It is only 
a tiny place, a poor place, perhaps — but mine 
own,” she added whimsically. “It will, at least, 
be a shelter, if I can get you in;” and she smiled 
up into the face so far above her own. “And 
you are very welcome to what I have.” 

Carina looked down into a bright pair of kind 
eyes. “But I am a perfect stranger to you,” 
she gasped in her surprise. She had long since 
ceased to expect friendliness from anyone. 

“That’s all right. I was a lonely stranger 
here myself once,” the girl answered cheerfully. 

Carina opened her lips to say, “I am not that,” 
but, instead, grasped the little hand held out to 
her. Again words Janet MacDonald had read in 
one of those peaceful hours so long, long ago 
came to her: “I was a stranger, and ye took me 
in.” 

“Thank you, thank you so much,” she said 
brokenly. “I will be as little trouble as possible. 
I am looking for work, and hope to get something 
— tomorrow.” 

Soon she found herself in a narrow, quiet 
street, where the houses stood like rows of good, 
pious children, with their toes carefully arranged 
on a chalk line, their hands folded primly before 
them, their heads hanging meekly, a little as 
though hoping nothing, expecting nothing, but 
resolved to stand in their places to the end of 
time. There were no trees, no grassplots, no 
river, no flowers, so far as she could see in the 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


93 


half-light, just rows and rows of “places ” in 
which many people, Carina thought, must know 
a great deal about horse hair and brocaded vel- 
vet monstrosities ; also of smells of fish that was 
too old, onions and tobacco, beefsteak and tur- 
nips. 

A vision of Donald’s home and the “Chamber 
of Peace” came to her, for some reason, with 
vivid clearness. She was back there in the space, 
and daintiness, and purity of it all. Surely she 
was ; this was only a dream. 

A voice in her ear brought her again to the 
dreary and hopeless present ; she started violently 
and stumbled on a stair. “Here we are at 
home !” 

Her companion turned a key in the door right 
in front of them, saying brightly, “Now you 
stand perfectly still just a moment till I get a 
light, or you may step on my stove, or sit down 
on my teapot, or else upset my piano, you are 
so big and grand;” and a merry laugh pealed 
out. 

“One has to move very circumspectly in my 
castle, not to disarrange its proportions. You 
evidently were n’t built for marble halls like these, 
or any of the small places in the world.” 

So she chattered on cheerfully, while carefully 
making her way to some corner where the light 
might, could, or should be, apparently. “There ! 
welcome. Miss.” She paused, match in hand, 
question in voice, “Miss — 


9 ^ 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“May Wilson,” said Carina almost involun- 
tarily, giving the name of a boarder at Mrs. 
Dole’s whom she had once adored in silence, the 
one “parlor boarder” in the dismal old lodging 
house. 

Now Carina could see her new friend more 
distinctly. She was a compact little creature, 
energy, determination, and ability in every line 
of her neat figure and finely cut features. There 
was a somewhat foreign look about her, but all 
her motions and expressions were “American.” 
There was no uncertainty as to her own abilities 
in her make-up, either. She was a woman evi- 
dently able, and accustomed, to make her own 
way. Carina took in every point with satisfac- 
tion, and a sense of comfort stole over her. Here 
was someone who knew life, and could perhaps 
tell her how people found work who wanted to 
do anything honorable, if they only had oppor- 
tunity. 

The little woman on her part stopped short in 
her energetic, effective march about her castle, 
as she called it, to stare in frank astonishment 
at Carina, when she had quietly laid off her hat 
and the tailor-made jacket, with its satin lining, 
and the splendid golden head, with its wonder- 
ful, soft, brown eyes, and the fine, erect form of 
the stranger showed clearly in the lamp-light. 
She opened her mouth once or twice before 
any words came, and then stammered — “I 
can’t — can’t quite understand about your want- 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 95 

ing work. You don’t — you haven’t worked have 
you? ” 

“Yes, indeed.” Carina answered, “but — not 
lately.” 

A quick, questioning look from the sharp, pen- 
etrating bird-like eyes of her hostess was at once 
followed by a relaxing of her features. 

“Supper is the first thing, isn’t it, now?” she 
said, and went about bringing from all sorts of 
unexpected places a cloth, dishes, rolls, cheese, 
dainty slices of beef, and various bits that looked 
and smelled, to the almost starved woman, like a 
wonderful feast ; all the time bubbling over with 
quaint, humorous conceits, bits of experience, and, 
now and then, bursts of song. 

Carina could only think of a cunning bantam 
hen she had often laughed at in the country, 
bustling about, almost bursting with pecking im- 
portance, cocking her mite of a head, first on one 
side, then on the other, murmuring queer re- 
marks, side lights on bugs and worms, probably, 
with sudden, unexpected flittings sideways for no 
apparent reason, followed by further dainty at- 
tacks at the center of operations. 

Carina caught the brisk cheer of her atmos- 
phere, and soon the two girls were chatting mer- 
rily over their tea like old friends. After the 
dishes were washed in some inscrutable manner, 
things were whisked out of sight again, and the 
tea-room became a bed chamber, snug and com- 
fortable, though the piano did not turn out to 


96 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


be a writing desk and refrigerator combined, or 
the tea table a wash stand; and they could not 
have “swung the cat,” to be sure. But then they 
didn’t want to. 

How wonderful it all seemed to the lonely, for- 
lorn girl, as she lay a few minutes listening to 
the peaceful, regular breathing of her new friend ! 
She would think out some way to repay her when 
— to her amazement it was suddenly bright 
morning and an alert little figure was moving 
quietly around the room. Such a cheerful, homey 
room it was, too, in the morning light ! Such 
pretty, bright paper and dainty curtains ! A 
bird began to sing in the sunny window. A great 
white cat stood up and stretched herself solemnly, 
with too much dignity to notice the stranger; 
then deposited herself carefully and artistically 
in the Morris chair at such an angle that she 
could mildly enjoy the thought what a choice 
breakfast that pampered bird in his golden house 
would make, if one cared to take the trouble to 
be a house-breaker. 

Carina sprang up. “I am afraid I have over- 
slept. How lovely it all is here. Wait a little, 
can’t you.?^ and I will help.” 

“No; no time to spare; business, in other 
words. Storer and Co. don’t wait for late girls. 
They are worse than time, old age, or even the 
tide, to get after you if you don’t get on quickly. 
I must go out for a bit of shopping. Please see 
that the kettle doesn’t become too aggressive and 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


97 


expansive, or the cat do more than enjoy the 
pleasures of hope for the season. Would a chop 
taste good, even if you didn’t use it as the Father 
of our country did?” and without stopping in her 
instructions and questions she slipped out by a 
mysterious back way. 

Carina was ready in short order, and moved 
around the room carefully putting things to 
rights a little, as far as she could see where each 
article must go, whether it really wanted to or 
not. At last she picked up a book from the 
table and opened it. Every vestige of color left 
her face, and she looked around for her hat and 
jacket in a terrified way. “Jean MacDonald, 
with dear love, from brother Donald,” was what 
she had read. This, then, was the adored sister 
he had told her about. She must get away, 
somehow, at once. What would this sweet, pure 
girl say or do, if she knew? 

Donald’s sister ! Steps on the stairs roused her 
to self-control. She laid the book down and re- 
turned to the window for a moment more. 
Gradually a restraint fell upon the two girls. 
Carina could not quiet the tumult in her heart, 
and the silences grew longer and longer as they 
hurriedly did up the dishes and straightened the 
room into its daytime order. 

Carina told Jean what kind of work she would 
like to get. A new hope sprang up in her sick 
heart when the girl in her brisk way said, “I will 
give you a note of introduction to a friend of 


98 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


mine in an employment bureau. Perhaps she can 
help you to find just what you want. I hope so. 
If you don’t get anything to-day, come back to 
me for the night, won’t you.? I wish you didn’t 
look so pale. Are you sure it wouldn’t be bet- 
ter to stay right here, and rest.?” 

‘‘No, no,” said Carina feverishly, “I must get 
something. God repay you for this kindness. I 
was almost — desperate.” 

Again the keen, questioning look passed over 
Jean’s pleasant, round face. Carina could see 
something of the mother in her eyes this morn- 
ing, even though they were black and sparkling. 

In a few minutes the girls shook hands, and 
Carina turned up town with new courage. All 
day she sat in the office waiting for a chance. 
Jean’s friend had received her pleasantly enough, 
but with a reserve in her business-like manner. 
Women of all sorts and conditions came in, asked 
the most astonishing, and often impertinent 
questions, Carina thought, stared at her suspi- 
ciously, sniffed at her clothes, remarked on her 
“chorus girl hair” and probable former occupa- 
tion, and looked incredulous as the matron, in a 
low tone, apparently talked about her. 

Carina, faint with hunger, her courage sunk 
to the lowest ebb, held her hands nervously until 
they ached, as man after man, woman after 
woman, went out. At last, just as the office was 
about to close, a fine, fatherly-looking man of 
fifty-five or sixty rushed in out of breath. 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


99 


“I want a good, reliable child nurse; must have 
her at once; got to catch the next car. What I 
no one?” 

Carina looked up pleadingly. The matron 
frowned a little, and then said hesitatingly, ‘‘Here 
is a girl who has no recommendations. She looks 
strong, but has never taken care of children.” 

“Do you like them?” the man burst in, “Do 
you really think you could manage them?” 

“I could try,” Carina said, rising. “I love 
little children,” she added tenderly. 

“Well! that’s something, something the spal- 
peens sorely need,” he muttered to himself. 
“Come on. I haven’t time to discuss matters. 
My wife telephoned she must have a nurse to- 
night. Come, you don’t know what you can do 
till you try. Miss — ?” 

“May Wilson,” Carina prompted him. 

“Miss Wilson, let me take your bag.” 

One comfort Carina had, was that he did not 
look at the bag, or at her critically, but, when 
they took seats in the elevated, became entirely 
absorbed in his paper. She was glad of a few 
minutes in which to plan her near future. She. 
thought with comfort of the clean, simple linen 
dress in her bag and of several dainty collars ; 
they would do for a beginning, and with her first 
wages she would buy caps and aprons, if they 
were not supplied her, and another ready-made 
dress. 

Not one regret for the life of ease, luxury, and 


100 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


amusement came into her heart to-day. That 
was all long gone. She had lived too much in 
the last forty-eight hours, — years they seemed, — 
and had grown old, and wise in values. Fdr-^ 
few minutes her thoughts turned inward again,' 
and she shuddered at the painful memories, but 
her nature was too buoyant to let even this black- 
ness of darkness blot out the rising sun. She had 
begun a new life. Why 1 she even had a new 
name. No one knew, no one should know, what 
the past had been. She could hide away now 
from Donald, Dick, and all her old world. They 
would never know what had become of her. Dick.? 
He did not care, anyway, what became of her, 
and — the brisk voice of her companion brought 
her back to the present: 

“Here we are. Miss — er — 

“May Wilson,” she reminded him again. 

“Yes ; oh, yes. May Wilson. Something fa- 
miliar, very familiar, about that name. Any re- 
lation to Solomon Wilson the — the — ” He hesi- 
tated, and then gave Carina the first really 
attentive notice he had bestowed upon her 
person. 

“Um ! Ah ! Really now, of course not,” he 
stammered. 

“I have no people in New York,” Carina said 
quietly. 

“Orphan.? Ah! yes, to be sure, orphan.” 

“Yes,” Carina answered, hesitating a little. 

“All alone, hey? Too bad! Sorry. Didn’t 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


101 


ask you about wages,” he ended, with his voice an 
interrogation. 

Carina flushed crimson to the roots of her 
golden hair ; she had quite forgotten there would be 
that question, but, gathering herself together with 
her ready instinct for situations, asked, ‘What 
have you usually given?” 

“Ten dollars for the last one we had. Miser- 
able baggage she was, too. Only one interest in 
life, policemen. Interested in policemen, hey?” 
he questioned sharply. 

“No,” Carina replied, “not at all.” She knew 
she had never cared for policemen. Yes ; one had 
been kind to her, when she looked into the win- 
dow that night. She saw again the cheerful fam- 
ily in the firelight and pictured a new, happy 
life for herself in such a circle as that. She 
would get a “drab” dress, such as that nurse 
wore, and a big, big white apron, and a cap. 
She touched her hair a little ruefully. Yes, a 
cap like that, with strings, perhaps. No ; on 
second thought she wouldn’t have strings, at 
least not for a — few years. 

They had been walking rapidly along a beauti- 
ful, wide street, with handsome houses and well- 
kept grounds. She had not imagined it would 
be like this. They reached the door, which a 
very stiff, solemn porter opened, greeting the 
master as though he had been a walking, talking 
machine, replying to questions with a colorless 
“Yes sir,” deferentially waving his hand, when 


102 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


the master of the house said, “Ask Mrs. Van 
Waters to step to the library and show Miss — 
er?” Again he looked enquiringly at Carina. 

“Wilson.” 

“Yes, Wilson there, Lawson.” 

Lawson had not, apparently, before this order, 
seen Carina at all. Though, if she had felt any 
interest in the matter, she might have observed 
that his eyebrows were raised a trifle higher than 
usual, in consequence of his having made a rapid, 
exhaustive inventory of her personality for fu- 
ture use “below stairs.” 

The library door closed softly, and Carina was 
in a new world. Would there be a place in it 
for her.? she wondered. She was not at all sure. 
There was no suggestion here of the bright, 
warm, homey, living room she had peeped into 
ten years ago ; only stately, cold magnificence ; 
luxury on every hand, but no “comfort.” And 
yet this was the “home” of Mr. Howard Van 
Waters, described as “the splendid mansion of 
the successful merchant prince!” 

Carina was wondering whether she could ever 
catch just the inflection of that perfect porter, 
when the swish of silk skirts aroused her atten- 
tion, and she rose as an elegant woman of thirty 
or thirty-five swept into the room, and, stopping 
in front of her, looked her over deliberately with 
her lorgnette, as she might have done a piece of 
furniture or drapery. 

Carina waited patiently until the inspection 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


103 


was over, holding her lips tightly together to 
check the smile which her keen sense of humor 
made it hard to suppress. 

‘‘Are you the person Mr. Van Waters brought 
out for a nurse.?” she asked at last coldly. 

“Yes, ma’am.” Carina was rather proud of 
her first attempt, although she thought, herself, 
it might have been a trifle more humble. She 
would improve next time. 

“Do you understand children.?” 

“I think so, ma’am.” 

“How much experience have you had? Where 
are your recommendations.? Have you any 
lovers .?” 

Her tone was growing more icy as she asked 
the questions in a parrot-like way, as though she 
were bored to death by the necessity, not waiting 
long enough between for Carina to catch her 
breath and answer. The girl began to feel des- 
perate, but at last had a chance to speak. 

“I have not worked out for some years, but I 
love children and feel sure I can take good care 
of them, if you will try me and see, ma’am.” 

“Oh ! I dare say you will do ; but you are too 
pretty and well-dressed.” A strange, sharp look 
passed over the indolent face. “I won’t have 
any nonsense.” 

Carina raised her head haughtily, and then, 
remembering her past, stammered out,” Oh, no, 
ma’am — I’m sure not, ma’am.” Hope was 
springing in her heart again. 


104 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Mrs. Van Waters touched a button at the side 
of the door twice, and a trim chamber maid soon 
stepped meekly into the room. 

“Betty, show this person to the nursery. 
What is your name.?^” she asked, turning to Ca- 
rina. 

“May Wilson.” 

“Wilson is enough for the purpose,” Mrs. Van 
Waters commented. “Are the children there, 
Betty.?” 

“Yes ma’am, the cook is spelling me a bit with 
them.” 

“Very well, she may go to her own work now. 
It is high time, as we are to have company for 
dinner. Show Wilson up.” 

The trim maid led the way up two long flights 
of stairs, and showed Carina into the prettiest 
room she had ever seen in her life, an ideal, 
modern nursery. 

She looked around with surprise and delight 
at the beautiful, solid, suitable fittings of the 
large airy room. There were toys, pictures, 
games ; nothing was lacking. Her face grew sud- 
denly grave; and yet — two children, a boy of 
five, perhaps, and a lovely little girl of three, 
were in the middle of the room, screaming and 
snatching at one another in furious fashion. 

“Don’t envy you. Miss, with them imps,” the 
maid flung back at her, as she beat a hasty retreat, 
while the cook gave her a sympathetic, “May 
the saints presarve ye!” 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


105 


Carina took off her things slowly, pretending 
not to notice the fight, but the boy, catching sight 
of her in a moment, let go of his sister’s hair, 
came up, and kicked savagely at the new-comer. 

‘‘Who are you.?” he cried roughly. 

Carina caught the uplifted foot just in time 
to save herself a bruise and, without saying a 
word picked up some driving lines from the floor. 
Before the astonished boy could speak again, she 
tied his hands behind him, and then, with a quick, 
unexpected motion, fastened his knees together, 
and lifting him in her strong young arms, set him 
down in the window rather forcibly. For a 
minute he stormed at her with ugly words, then 
she quietly walked to the wash stand, took a 
piece of soap, and rubbed it on the tip of his 
tongue, still without a word. For a while he 
kicked and sobbed in real misery, and then grew 
quiet, looking at Carina shyly from time to time 
as she washed the baby’s hot face, brushed out 
the tangled hair, and then sitting down in a 
broad, comfortable chair rocked her slowly and 
tenderly, while the great blue eyes looked up into 
her face with wonder, and growing confidence. 

When Carina saw that the tempest was quite 
over, — she had learned their names during the 
fray, — she spoke for the first time. 

“Enid wants to hear a story about a real bear, 
and if Paul is ready to ask her very pleasantly 
to forgive him because he forgot he was her big 
brother, who means always to take care of his 


106 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


dear little sister, as a gentleman should, I am 
sure she will, and we will invite him to the story, 
too.” 

For a minute longer the tied legs banged sav- 
agely against the window seat, and then a very 
sturdy, manly little fellow, with head in air said, 
“Course I’m a gentleman, please sense me.” 
Thus, in five or six minutes after Carina had been 
ushered upon the field of battle, she was helping 
two eager assistants to put the lovely room in 
order, and then a wonderful hour began for the 
worn-out “motherless” fighters. 

And it began in the dear old way: Once on a 
time there was a beautiful, brown baby bear, away 
out in a great wood, where so many big trees 
grew that he thought the whole world was made 
of them. He was very hungry, and cold, and 
lonesome. All day long he had waited for his 
mama to come back. She had gone away early 
in the morning to get something to eat, but she 
didn’t come, and she didn’t come, and the cun- 
ning little bear crawled out of the hole inside 
a tree that was their home, and wandered about 
a little to see if he couldn’t find his mama. 
When he tried to get back, he couldn’t find the 
hole, for all the great trees looked just alike to 
him. Finally it grew dark and began to snow some 
more. He couldn’t think why it should snow any 
more, for the ground was all white now, and so 
cold for his baby feetl It grew darker, and 
darker, and there were all kinds of noises he didn’t 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


107 


understand, but no mama. All night the poor 
bear was alone in the great woods, and the next 
day, too. It grew so faint and hungry, it could 
hardly cry any more. Then there was a new 
noise. A very queer noise. It tried to lift its 
head to see if the mama were coming, but it was 
only a great, big, strange thing, that walked on 
two legs ! Baby bear had never seen such a 
queer thing. He began to cry a little again, and 
then the big thing with the two legs stopped 
short and listened! 

“What’s that,” it said. “Sounds like some- 
thing hurt.” 

It walked around some more, and then stopped 
right by the baby bear. The poor little thing 
thought it was going to eat him right up. He 
held his breath and shut his eyes tight 1 

“Why it’s a little baby bear 1 that was its 
mother the men killed last night near camp, prob- 
ably. Poor little critter ; it’s most starved 1 
I’ll take it home to the boy.” And when he 
said that, his eyes looked very bright. “Pretty 
little thing!” And the first thing the baby bear 
knew, he was all warm against something that 
went thump, thump, thump, very softly; but he 
didn’t seem to be afraid of it, somehow. And 
something strong seemed to be holding him all 
safe from the cold, cold snow. 

“Well, that thing on two legs was — I 
know — a man!” Paul shouted. “Yes, a man who 
lived out there in the woods to cut trees to make 


108 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


nice big chairs and tables like these. And he had 
a little boy at home that he loved more than any- 
thing else in the world. He was a poor man. 
I mean he hadn’t any money to buy things for his 
boy to play with, and so he thought this cunning 
baby bear would be fine to take home.” And 
Carina gave Enid a gentle hug which brought 
two big dimples into her rosy cheeks. A soft, 
round little hand went shyly up and patted her 
cheek and brought a queer choking lump into 
her throat. 

‘‘Oh please go on! was he s’prised?” Paul 
asked. 

“Indeed he was ; for his own mama was dead 
and sometimes, especially at night, he was very 
lonesome, too. I wish you could have seen his 
face when the papa carefully took the hungry 
little bear out from inside his great coat. You 
never saw such a happy boy. First, he just 
jumped up and down; then he took the soft baby 
bear and almost hugged it too hard.” 

“Is he mine, all mine?” he cried. 

“Yes,” the papa said, “his mother is dead, and 
he is like you, without any brother or sister.” 
And, will you believe it, that big man, who 
thought nothing of cutting down great trees, he 
was so strong, wiped a big, round tear from his 
eye with his coat sleeve. 

“What is his name, papa?” the little boy asked. 
“Shall we call him ‘Little Brother?’ ” 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


109 


“Are you tired, dears?” asked Carina. 

“No, no! tell some more,” Paul cried. 

“Well, they lived together just like two 
brothers for a long time, until the bear began to 
be big, and strong, with long, white teeth. One 
day they were taking a walk in the woods. The 
father was away up on the mountain side. Sud- 
denly they heard a low growl, and there, close to 
them, was a great, wild, hungry, black bear. 
The little boy was so frightened he didn’t know 
what to do ; he was only four years old, you 
know, almost a' baby.” “Pooh I not half as big as 
I am ;” and Paul straightened himself surpris- 
ingly. 

“He tried to run, but the hungry bear growled 
and began to run, too. Then the little boy fell 
down; and, what do you think.? that baby bear, 
that wasn’t a baby any more, but a big, strong 
fellow, caught up the little boy with his white 
teeth and ran as fast as he could toward the 
house. Faster and faster he ran, but the big 
bear had longer legs, and Little Brother had a 
pretty heavy load. Once he almost fell down, 
and the big black bear growled and growled. 
Little Brother’s heart was going very fast. 
Could he reach the door? Bang! went a big 
noise, and the big, old, hungry bear stopped run- 
ning, rolled over, and never ran any more, never. 
The boy’s father had come home to supper, and, 
when he could not find his darling anywhere in 


110 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


the house, had gone out to hunt for him, and was 
just in time to help Little Brother save his child. 
Do you wonder everybody loved that bear?” 

‘‘My! that’s a ’citing story! Do you know 
any more?” 

Just then the maid appeared with the chil- 
dren’s supper. “I’m very hungry, aren’t you?” 
Carina replied, laughing down into their sweet, 
eager faces, the faces now of her devoted friends. 

It wasn’t an easy task that she had under- 
taken. There were weary hours of walking in 
the park and streets, when Carina’s poor, blis- 
tered feet ached so that she could have cried. 
There were weary hours of lying awake watching 
and tending the sick, fretful little souls. There 
were many lonely hours in the nursery, when her 
heart cried for comradeship. She grew tired, 
tired all through, of the snubs of the servants, 
who, although she tried hard to treat them as 
though she “belonged,” felt instinctively that she 
did not, and resented it. There were nauseating 
hours, when the butler or coachman tried to make 
love to her. Many untruths were bandied about 
the servants’ table, until a weariness grew in her 
heart under which nerve and determination 
almost gave way. 

One thing brought unexpected comfort. She 
had a great deal of leisure, and soon began to read. 
She had never seemed to care much for books be- 
fore. The French chamber maid, a pretty, dainty 
little Parisian, partly in fun, began to teach her to 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


111 


speak her own beloved language. Carina bought 
some elementary books, and before long they could 
carry on short conversations, to the great de- 
light of the children, who in their eager, absorb- 
ing way, would not rest until they knew the names 
of everything they saw in the “funny talk.” 

Mrs. Van Waters was entirely absorbed in her 
social pleasures and duties. She very seldom 
came to the nursery, and seemed to have no in- 
terest in the children, excepting to exhibit them 
occasionally to friends who asked the privilege of 
seeing them. Carina’s hungry heart bled for the 
motherless ones, and she tried to make up to them 
for their loss as best she could; but she was 
almost overwhelmed at times with her own ignor- 
ance of life and the many things they ought to 
be taught, if they were to be saved from mistakes, 
the awful mistakes that hamper growth and dwarf 
possibilities in character. There were many 
happy hours, too, when the children were like 
angels, all life seemed bright, and Carina’s heart 
grew warm and soft once more, as a satisfying 
sense of at last being useful in the world came 
over her. 

The children’s evident love was a great joy. 
She became proud of them, as though they were 
her own; grew more patient and just in dealing 
with them; and was never tired of watching their 
development ; it was all such a new pleasure, and 
she was growing with them, too, day by day. 

The winter had come and gone; once more the 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


lia 

bluebirds were flitting about the lawn. Little 
nests were building in the cedars ; robins inter- 
viewed the early worm, and found he was wise 
to come out — and just to their taste — in these 
days when appetite was capricious. When the 
gardener raked off the rich, warm covering of 
leaves, other messengers of spring looked out at 
one with bright, green heads or soft, brown caps. 

The life and stir and the melting softness in 
the air filled Carina’s veins and made her blood 
run quickly. Somehow she knew Donald’s heart 
sought her own in telepathic waves. It took all 
her determination not to call to him, to answer. 
She longed to know whether he had broken away 
from the drudgery of the farm, or were still 
crushing down his genius, singing out his hunger 
only off there by the brook, away from his 
mother’s impatient ears. Did he still love her? 
She scorned the question. She knew he did, for 
she could feel his comradeship ; almost see his 
visible self at her side or bending down toward 
her with loving, tender eyes ; almost feel the 
strength and warmth of his encircling arms, as in 
those last moments they had spent together. 

It was this vivid consciousness of his presence 
which made it possible for her to fulfill her duties 
and stand strong in her place. She could never 
be alone, so long as she was sure of his love. She 
had thought work was going to make it possible 
to get along quite alone. “One does not know 
some things very well until one tries to be inde- 


A PLACE OF REFUGE 


113 


pendent,” she said to her hungry heart in the 
night watches. If she might only see Janet’s 
face with the firelight flickering on her white hair, 
the glow from the lamp bringing out each line 
of her firm, strong features ! If she could only 
hear her voice! But perhaps Janet would not 
welcome her now. She might have heard — ^Carina 
shuddered. What might not have happened in 
the dear home! 

She had written to Jean several times, telling 
of her work and the children, but never giving 
names or an address. At Christmas time she 
had sent her twenty-five dollars. Perhaps she 
had taken a vacation on it and gone home ! She 
had sent Janet a pretty slumber rug with soft 
colors she knew would harmonize with the couch 
in the “sitting room,” where she had spent so many 
hours, but neither to Janet had she given any 
clue by which she might be found. She was 
“lost” in an old, new world into which they might 
never come, and she must not think of them 
either, only do her work and forget. She 
laughed a little bitterly at the concluding word. 
“Forget What things did one forget.? 
Surely not sin ; more surely not love. 


CHAPTER X 


MOTHER AND SON 

The day Carina DuCheyne walked away from 
the white house across the meadow to the little 
railway station had been a hard one for Donald, 
and Janet, too. The former had to drive far in 
the dust and heat of an intense September day. 
He turned his horse at last homeward with 
a great depression weighing on his heart. It 
had all been so distasteful to him, the haggling 
and bargaining, the tiresome details about the 
farm. Then, too, above and among all his busi- 
ness cares and worries, one question kept pound- 
ing and pounding over and over, in his brain. 
Why could she not love him.? Why? Why? 
Why? Sometimes he could rouse himself and 
say to the persistent fiend, “What do I care?” 
only to hear again, above the lowing of cattle 
and bleating of sheep. Why? 

He was going home now, and should soon see 
the beautiful face he had kissed only last night. 
Wave after wave of glowing, passionate love 
rolled in upon him with the memory of her tender 
voice in his ear, her face against his heart. Be- 
fore he had only known that he was content just 
to be near her, to look into her face and hear 
114 . 


MOTHER AND SON 


115 


her voice ; but in that heavenly hour they* had for- 
gotten time, the world, the future, and life could 
never be the same again ; he should never be easily 
content, but must drink deep of the cup of joy. 

Perhaps she would walk out the road a little 
way to meet him. At any rate, he would persuade 
her to go to the brook again after supper, and 
then he would make her promise to work with him 
for his future, if there were to be one such as 
she had painted for him. With her to help, he 
could do anything. She must promise to let him 
love her now and always. There was no reason, 
there could be no reason, why they should not 
have each other. He strained his eyes to catch a 
glimpse of an alert, queenly figure, — “her maj- 
esty” he loved to call her, — but only Hector was 
running anxiously up and down the road, hunting 
some interesting scent, growling and leaping with 
short, swift jumps, as he had done last night, 
when hunting for her. 

“What is it, old boy? What is it?” he called. 
Hector stopped a moment, and then, with a loud 
bark, leaped over the fence and tore across the 
meadow. 

“Oh, well,” Donald said aloud, “he cannot be- 
lie his nature, even for an old friend; he is on 
the scent, and something within drives him to 
satisfaction.” Afterward he remembered the in- 
cident. 

It had been a long, hard day for Janet, too; 
nothing had gone right; the berries wouldn’t jell. 


116 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


the cake fell, even the bread, her special pride, 
had a heavy streak on one side; and at last, just 
as she was dropping off for a little nap on Ca- 
rina’s couch, where she fancied there was a faint, 
well-known perfume, a sharp voice rang in at the 
side door. 

“O, howdy. Miss MacDonald. Thought I’d 
just drop in a bit. Having a nap? La me! sup- 
pose I’ll have to come to it, too, in time ; not for 
a long time yet, I hope.” And she simpered at 
her reflection in the glass above the fireplace. 

“Well, that was a piece of news ; summer 
boarder up and gone. Rather sudden, wa’n’t it? 
Jim Stone was just telling me she went to town 
on the express this morning. Good riddance of 
bad rubbish, I says to him. Yes, I says, ‘Miss 
MacDonald and Donald seemed to be took in by 
her, but,’ I says, ‘I wasn't. I spotted her the very 
first time I see her. Theatre creature,’ I says, 
‘with her fancy clothes and yellow hair. You 
don’t see no natural folks like her. Donald 
broke up to have her gone? No more setting by 
brooks and in Italian gardens by moonlight. He 1 
he! Had it bad, didn’t he? I don’t see what you 
was thinking of, Miss MacDonald, to let her stay 
here with her shy, modest ways. Modest? She? 
Why wa’n’t she setting in here, keeping you com- 
pany, evenings? 

“Oh, yes; I told her the other day she had 
stayed long enough. Yes ; I just spoke right out. 
I felt it was my duty to, since you didn’t seem 


MOTHER AND SON 


117 


to sense it. I says ‘You’ve stayed long enough. 
You’d better go where you belong’ ; and, will you 
believe it.? she hadn’t a word to say. She just 
got red all over her face and neck. Yes, and I 
went round to Miss Lane’s last evening to set 
awhile and take the poor thing some buttermilk, 
and she had been a crying. And she told me she 
had been showing Miss DuCheyne her picture al- 
bum and telling her about John. And she says 
Miss DuCheyne was real sympathetic and sorry ; 
and went home in a hurry all of a sudden, without 
waiting for Donald ; and seemed sort of strange. 
And, do you know.? I just remembered what Jim 
Stone told me once, when he’d been to town, about 
seeing John Lane with a yellow-haired creature, 
and following them home where they lived, in a 
fine house with marble steps. I just went right 
over and told Miss Lane the truth then. 

“Say, now, what made Miss DuCheyne go off 
so sudden this morning.? Did you expect it.? 
Didn’t pay her board neither, I bet. Do you 
know what I think? Don’t you see? Plain as 
the nose on my face ; and, land sakes ! everybody 
can see that easy enough.” She gave that prom- 
inent member a vicious pinch without stopping 
her tongue a second. "‘She is that yellow haired 
woman that is mixed up with John Lane. Well, 
you’re certainly lucky to get out of it so easy. 
What does Donald say?” And, for the first time 
since she began, Alviry stopped long enough for 
Janet MacDonald to speak, if she cared to. 


118 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


She had listened, fascinated, as Carina, had 
been, borne along by the muddy stream, which 
seemed to carry all in its torrent. Her face had 
grown whiter and whiter, as the foul gossip was 
poured over her, but she was too proud to give 
the coarse scandalmonger one glimpse of her 
troubled heart. Now she answered: “My son is 
not at home. I am going to ask you not to wait 
any longer ; I must rest awhile. Good after- 
noon;” and Janet MacDonald’s eyes, grown cold 
and hard as steel, drove the woman, giggling and 
simpering, down the path. 

“I’ll come over and tell you more soon, lots 
more. Ta-ta.” 

Janet closed the door, and sank into a chair. 
The sweet, beautiful woman she had been so happy 
to nurse, so proud to have in her home, a thing 
like that ! It was too monstrous. She would 
not believe it for a moment. She had learned 
much of life in her twenty years of wandering 
over the face of the earth with her artist hus- 
band; she had never talked of those years, nor 
explained to Donald why she could not bear to 
hear him play, or face for one moment the 
thought of an artist’s career for him — her only 
son, her “idol.” Yes ; she knew he was that, to 
such an extent that she had had to watch and 
pray not to make him fill her life so full as to 
crowd out everything else, even God Himself. 
She thought she had learned to know women, 
good and bad, strong and weak. Not for a mo- 


MOTHER AND SON 


119 


ment had she questioned the character of Carina 
DuCheyne or the nature of Dick’s guardianship. 
And now this bat, this night-owl, this uncanny 
worm, had brought darkness and blight into her 
Eden ! It was too much ! 

Janet wandered about the house, not able to 
give her mind to anything or to settle down. 
She went up to the ‘‘Chamber of Peace.” When 
she opened the door, the same subtle, delicate 
fragrance greeted her. The room was in perfect 
order, everything in its place, the unstrapped 
trunk, waiting for Donald’s strong hand. She 
could not bear it, and hurried out again, closing 
the door softly, as she had done so often after 
helping Carina to bed and soothing her to sleep 
with her strong, cool hand. 

When Donald came in, tired and dejected, and, 
in a voice in which he tried not to betray more 
than a casual interest, asked where Miss Du 
Cheyne was, Janet could hold out no longer, but 
covered her face with her apron and sobbed 
aloud. In an instant Donald’s weariness was 
forgotten. He had not heard his mother weep in 
years. 

“Why, mother^ he cried, taking her cold 
hands in his, “what is it?” 

Then she poured out all the trouble of the 
day: first, Carina’s sudden departure; then the 
hateful neighbor’s miserable tale. Donald had 
turned as white as death when his mother said 
Carina had gone. A deep groan broke from his 


120 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


lips. He dropped her hands, and, staggering 
over to a chair, covered his face with his own. 
When the tale was ended, he sprang to his feet. 

“I will go to that snake and crowd her words 
down her lying throat. She shall deny them, she 
shalir 

‘‘Donald, my son,” said Janet, “what is this 
woman to you, a stranger, a perfect stranger.? 
These things may all be true. What do we know 
about her.? She has gone out of our lives; we 
can do nothing now. We have taken her in and 
ministered to her. If she be unworthy — ” 

“Mother!” Donald exclaimed in an agony of 
pain. “Whatever she is, wherever she is, even 
if she is in his home,” — Donald came back to his 
mother’s side and looked into her eyes, his own 
wild with his heart’s pain, — “I trust her, I love 
her. She has not gone out of our lives, and I 
will not hear one word against her.” Janet 
MacDonald’s face grew rigid as marble. “I 
shall find her, and I shall make her my wife, for 
before God we love each other for time and 
eternity.” 

“Donald MacDonald,” his mother answered in 
a cold, hard voice, “if this woman be what they 
say she is, the hour you turn to her again you 
turn away from me forever.” And Janet walked 
with firm step and erect head out into the kitchen. 

Donald went to the side door, staggering 
blindly, reached for the knob as one might who 
only looked inward, and rushed out into the 


MOTHER AND SON 


121 


night, hunger, thirst, weariness, all forgotten in 
the overwhelming sorrow at his heart. 

Carina had written a formal little note, gentle 
and kind, but unsatisfactory to the hungry- 
hearted man. She told him she was going to find 
work; begged him not to worry about her, be- 
cause she was young and strong, and nothing 
could harm her ; and urged him once more to 
break away and go where he could make a power 
of himself, and forget in a mission to others the 
pain she had brought him. 

Poor Donald kissed the letter over and over. 
He had promised to trust her, and he should do 
so ; but he would find her, find her. There was 
nothing else that mattered. 

As the days passed lines formed between his 
eyes, and the lips forgot to smile or whistle. He 
was faithful, doggedly faithful, to his work; but 
all the light had gone, only darkness was about 
him. 

Sometimes, when the mood was on, he would 
compose, hour after hour, often tearing up the 
sheets as soon as they were filled, sometimes work- 
ingly feverishly all through the night. J anet 
would creep to his door again and again, but, 
without gaining courage to speak to him, would 
slip back to her bed, to lie there with wide open 
eyes and strained nerves. She grew white and 
listless, too, under the tension. They never 
spoke of Carina, but each heart knew its own bit- 
terness, and each waited for the other to reach out 


122 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


a sympathetic hand or acknowledge a mistake 
somewhere, mother and son. 

"When Jean came up at Christmas time and 
told of her experience with the stranger neither 
commented, but each knew well who the woman 
had been. Donald tramped the fields all that 
night and came in to breakfast with wild, hollow 
eyes ; and Janet MacDonald knew why, but still 
waited for him to speak. 

Early in the spring Donald, who had been in 
town all day, drove back at night dressed in a 
new business suit. He lifted out of the wagon a 
strong, leather trunk, and Janet, watching him 
from the kitchen window, understood. The hour 
for parting had come ; her boy could stand life at 
her side no longer. She knew, too, that not alone 
his sick, restless heart, but the power of his ex- 
panding genius was driving him out and away. 

After prayers that night he said very quietly, 
but with a tone in his voice that Janet had never 
heard there before, “Mother, I have arranged 
with cousin Norman to run the farm with you ; 
I am going away.” 

“Yes,” Janet MacDonald said, “I know.” 

“It is not possible for me to bear to — to stay 
here any longer.” 

Again Janet said, “I know.” 

Donald went to New York for two weeks, most 
of the time roaming the streets aimlessly with 
unseeing eyes, except as he looked into the face 
of every fair woman he met, or wandered in the 


MOTHER AND SON 


123 


parks, still scanning women’s faces, but never 
finding the one he wanted among them. He 
sought her through the papers, through police 
aid, but in vain. 

About ten days after he reached the city Jean 
received a note from Carina, telling of her work ; 
also that she was well, but was going away in a 
few days. This was to say good-bye, perhaps 
for a long time. 

“I have been learning French and German, for 
we are going abroad. I hope you and all you 
love will keep well and be very happy,” she wrote. 
It was a little consolation to keep in touch with 
them all through Jean. She thought, too, that 
perhaps Donald would take comfort in knowing 
she was well and at work. 

Donald, who had asked Jean to let him see the 
note, managed to get it into his pocket, very 
near a faded yellow rose, with a deep pink heart, 
that he had picked up the first time he had held 
her in his arms, his splendid yellow rose, with 
her true, strong heart ! 

She was going abroad; he would go, too, to 
Italy. Perhaps he should meet her somewhere. 
Of course he should. So he paced the streets no 
more, but in a few days sailed for Genoa. 


CHAPTER XI 


ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL 

The very day Donald sailed, Carina was out 
in a park near their home with the children, when 
a man suddenly stepped before her. 

“I was sure of it,” he cried. “Hello, Rina!” 

“Dick I” In her amazement she clutched at 
him for support. 

“What are you about, hey?” he asked, nerv- 
ously holding her hands, which she tried in vain 
to loosen from his grasp. Paul came running 
up and stood in front of him in open-eyed aston- 
ishment. He had never seen his “Miss May” 
talking with a man in the park before, and he 
resented it savagely. 

“Look here ; I have hunted for you everywhere. 
Don’t you ever read the papers? How did you 
give me the slip, darling?” 

Carina shuddered at his tone of coarse famil- 
iarity. “The children, Dick 1” she whispered 
anxiously. 

“Whose kids are they, anyway? Now you 
want to stop that business right away ; I won’t 
have it. The ideal Oh, you can’t get rid of 
me ; I’ve got you now, and I intend to hold on.” 

124 


ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL 125 


“Dick, your wife!” Carina was in an agony 
lest the children should hear and understand. 

Paul had come closer, and held both little fists 
clenched. 

“Oh, my wife is having the time of her life 
abroad. She is a tiresome creature. I was only 
too glad when she decided she wanted to stay over 
another year. Now come on, Carina. I’m lone- 
some. I need you. You belong to me, and I 
tell you I won’t give you up. Come on, take the 
kids home; I’ll go with you and explain.” 

Carina was in terror. By this time Paul was 
pommeling Dick and kicking at him with all his 
puny strength ; and Enid was crying softly, feel- 
ing that something was wrong. 

“Let my Miss May alone, I tell you; let her 
alone, you ugly man I” Paul stormed. 

“ ‘Miss May,’ hey ? Oh I nom de plume, incog- 
nito, and so forth! Good!” and Dick laughed 
harshly, at the same time shaking Paul until he 
began to cry, too. 

“Well, you always were sharp. Covered your 
tracks in that way, hey.?^ Didn’t do you any 
good; I’m onto your curves.” 

How vulgar he had grown! how loud! how he 
smelled of old tobacco ! and, yes, plainly, of whis- 
key ! He was partly drunk now. How should 
she escape him.? Could she ever have cared for 
him.? believed in him.? this earthworm.? 

She knew she must do something quickly; he 
must not go home with her; she must gain time. 


126 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“We — we shall be out” — she gasped for words 
— “to-morrow at this same hour. I will arrange 
matters, Dick. You cannot go home with me ; 
it is impossible” ; and, seeing a well-known blue- 
coat in the near distance, she added more quietly, 
“I will put myself under protection, if necessary.” 

Dick glanced hastily in the direction of her 
eyes. “Oh, well, if you are going to make a scan- 
dal,” he sneered. Lifting his hat, he walked 
away, but flung back harshly, “Come to-morrow, 
or I will find asistance, too.” 

Trembling so that she could scarcely walk, Ca- 
rina took the children’s hands in hers and turned 
homeward. 

“Your hand is cold like ice. What makes it. 
Miss May.? Did that nasty man hurt you.? I’ll 
— I’ll shoot him — dead!” 

“No, no, dear! forget about him. See what a 
beautiful big bug that Robin Redbreast has. I 
wonder if he is going to take it home for his ba- 
bies .?” In a few minutes she had won their minds 
away from the unfortunate encounter. 

Her card house was about her ears again. 
What should she do.? Where could she find ref- 
uge.? 

After the children were asleep that evening she 
slipped to the little French maid’s room. She 
must talk with some one. In a few words she ex- 
plained that a man she feared was threatening 
her and she would have to get away at once, that 
night. They talked matters over and over. All 


ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL 127 


at once Cosette remembered that one of her 
friends had said that very day that a table girl 
was needed in their house. 

Carina had often helped out in various capaci- 
ties when there had been a hiatus in the Van Wa- 
ters household. Slipping quietly to the nursery 
again, she hastily put her working clothes into 
her bag once more, wrote two notes, then kissed 
the dear, sweet little children, and, with a break- 
ing heart, turned quickly away from the beauti- 
ful room that had been her refuge from the storms 
of life for six months. 

How trivial all the little nagging worries and 
frets she had endured seemed now in the face of 
this awful thing which was upon her ! The 
coachman, who would gladly have walked bare- 
foot for his little French sweetheart, despite a 
towering pride in his top boots, agreed to take 
them across the city to Cosette’s friend in the car- 
riage, which was not to go for the mistress until 
very late that night. So, leaving the note for 
Mrs. Van Waters, and making sure the cook 
would watch her dear charges through the night, 
Carina went down the rear stairs with her little 
friend, and a few minutes later they were driven 
out from the stable with closed shades, so that, 
if “he” were watching, he would not imagine who 
was in the carriage, the romantic French girl 
whispered into Carina’s unhearing ear. 

A hideous feeling of shame and mortification 
almost overcame Carina at the course she was 


128 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


taking in sneaking away from her duty like a 
thief in the night; but the case was desperate; 
she must get away from this man, and she had 
snatched eagerly at the first possible plan of- 
fered her dazed, almost frenzied brain. Cosette 
should take Dick the note the next day, and she 
could trust her absolutely to cover her tracks 
from him. 

How she knew that, she could not tell ; but this 
simple-hearted foreigner would keep her secret 
as her own, she felt sure, whatever bribes Dick 
might offer; and she knew he would try in every 
way to worm himself into her confidence. 

Cosette told the housekeeper in the new place 
as little or as much as she chose, but praised 
Carina’s abilities to the skies, with quaint little 
gestures, sweet moves, and shrugs of her dainty 
shoulders, and at last the tired, vexed woman, 
who had been around all day trying to find just 
the table maid she wanted, consented to engage 
on trial the one who had arrived at such an un- 
usual hour and with no “written recommenda- 
tions.” 

So again a new life opened for the buffeted 
daughter of fortune. There were many unpleas- 
ant things to bear in it; but she had grown to 
expect them day by day, and learned just a lit- 
tle how to meet them. She no longer had a 
lovely, artistic room in which to live; no longer 
ate with beautiful, dainty, loving children; there 
were no quiet, undisturbed hours she could call 


ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL 129 

her own, like the pleasant evenings which had 
meant so much to her; and she had daily to en- 
dure, more or less, the company of common, 
coarse natures. Fortunately she was put into a 
room with the chamber maid, a clean, wholesome 
German girl from Hamburg, where, she hoped, 
she would have a chance to learn a little more 
about her duties. She would be ‘‘growing” at 
least, and that was a comfort, for somehow, de- 
spite the trying, discouraging surroundings, a 
great hunger had been aroused in her to learn. 

She soon found a good friend in the local li- 
brarian, who gradually drew out Carina’s ambi- 
tion in this new line and became so much inter- 
ested in her that she helped her choose good 
books, not forgetting the great poets, and 
Shakespeare, the mighty master. Carina had a 
fine memory, and when she finally awoke to the 
possibility of study, even by herself, to make up 
in some degree for the careless, indifferent years 
of her later girlhood, life took on a new meaning. 
She began to read intelligently, and came to un- 
derstand a little why the light had shone in Don- 
ald’s eyes as he talked to her of his books, of men 
in the past and present, and of their thoughts. 
She began to see why they were always anxious 
to learn more and more : that they might broaden 
their minds and deepen their lives. It was her 
privilege, as well as theirs, and she brought to 
her new ambition the strength and freshness of 
her youth, as a child does. If she were far, far 


130 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


behind, then she must work all the harder, and 
more patiently absorb everything possible. It 
was all hers for the seeking. 

Down deep in her heart lay always the mem- 
ory, working upon her spirit like a powerful 
goad, that he had said he should find her. She 
must, then, be ready to live a large life, such as 
his would be, if he loved her in spite of it all, if — 
She laughed almost gaily. 

As the days slipped rapidly by she found her- 
self in a very different atmosphere, in many re- 
spects, from that of the Van Waters “home.” 
Mr. and Mrs. Otis, of fine old New England 
stock, were people of rare culture. Although 
they seemed to have abundant means and kept up 
a large establishment, their tastes were for the 
most part simple. Everything was in most de- 
corous harmony, but there was no attempt at 
“style,” so called, or any striving for mere ef- 
fect, or rivalry with others. They seemed to 
have no interest in the ordinary run of amuse- 
ments, or for society with a large S ; and yet, 
scarcely a day passed when some choice, honored 
friend or select company did not enjoy the hos- 
pitality of the quiet, scholarly Mr. Otis and his 
brilliant wife. 

Here, as in the home of Janet MacDonald, the 
girl daily learned lessons of true values, lessons 
in a large, sweet, wholesome living which was 
“worth while,” and she was quick to understand 
the difference between this plane and that on 


ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL 131 


which others she had known lived, and to feel its 
uplift. 

Carina soon fell into the ways of the house- 
hold, and, when she learned how they liked to 
have things done, took as much pride in the 
handsome dining-room and well-appointed table 
as she had done in her other lovely charges. 

Mrs. Otis treated her with the same unfailing 
courtesy she showed guests and friends, and the 
table conversations were a constant stimulus and 
delight to the eager girl, who was entering a new 
world, an unknown life opening out to her with 
bright possibilities. 

Carina never for a day forgot her love or her 
sorrow. She never went upon the street un- 
veiled or without a dread that somewhere, some- 
how, Dick might find her again and hunt her to 
her doom or drive her to some deed of despera- 
tion. She well knew that, thwarted of his wishes, 
he would make the finding of her his greatest de- 
light, the one aim of his pleasure-seeking life; 
that all other sensations would seem tame by the 
side of this absorbing game of hide and seek. 
She knew that he would try every possible bribe 
on the French girl, if he followed her home, as 
she felt sure he would; but Cosette would find her 
own pleasure in the game and use her sharp wits 
well to circumvent him. 

But even these haunting fears did not hinder 
Carina’s rapid development. She had set a high 
task before her, even the wiping out of her sins 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


13a 

of ignorance and thoughtlessness, with bitter 
tears, hard, honest toil, stern self-denial, reso- 
lute purpose. Women like her, she was learning 
in her reading, used to go into retreats and give 
up their lives to penance, and charity, and the 
church; and even the world in time forgave; yes, 
sometimes made them saints. She could not do 
that; her life blood flowed too riotously through 
her veins. She must live in a world of conflict 
and of action. She must work, and work hard. 
Then perhaps Donald, perhaps the world, would 
forgive her sometime, and accord her a place 
again, even if she were not the stuff of which 
saints seemed to be made. 

She knew little of religion, and had no con- 
scious creed. No one had ever asked her if she 
loved God or Christ, though she never forgot 
how Janet MacDonald had assumed that she was 
“good.” No one had ever asked her to go to 
church, no one but the little German Lutheran, 
who didn’t seem to know or care much about her 
“soul,” though she was faithful in her attendance 
upon her Kirche, and in the performance of her 
duties; and thus, in a modest way, preached her 
little lesson as she lived day by day. 

Carina often went with her Sunday afternoon; 
she loved the language, the stately old chorals, 
and the grand, majestic organ preludes. She 
learned German rapidly in that way, and could 
soon read the fourteenth chapter of John — that 
was one Janet MacDonald had seemed to love 


ANOTHER TURN OF THE WHEEL 133 


and the first Carina tried — in Elsa’s queer little 
Bible. 

Dimly, just dimly, she began to understand 
something about the “soul,” and to feel that per- 
haps she had not really lost hers, after all, since 
no one seemed to think it a serious matter enough 
to inquire about. 

She began to love poetry, and, catching an au- 
thor’s name once in a while from some of Mrs. 
Otis’s guests, hunted him up in the library, and 
read all she could find by or about him. Some- 
times she read aloud to Elsa ; but Elsa generally 
went to sleep after the first or second page and 
snored a gentle accompaniment that did not dis- 
turb Carina long, so engrossed did she become in 
translating the writer into her own groping 
thought. 


CHAPTER XII 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 

Two years to-day since the fateful auto ride ! 
The thought came to Carina with surprise as she 
polished her silver and glasses. Then she must 
be about twenty-three years old ; for that was on 
her twenty-first birthday, as nearly as they had 
been able to reckon it. Mrs. Dole had said she 
was fifteen when Dick took her. She had been 
with Mrs. Otis more than a year. It hardly 
seemed possible, time had passed so swiftly! 

Mrs. Otis had come to her room unexpectedly 
one day several weeks before, and, as she stood 
talking, absently thumbed a book lying on the 
table. At last her eye, apparently by accident, 
fell upon the title page. She started and ex- 
claimed in a surprised voice, “Why! who reads 
Shakespeare.?” 

Carina colored to the roots of her fair hair. 
“It is my book,” she answered hesitatingly. 

“Do you care for him.?” was the next question. 

“More, I think, than for any other writer,” 
Carina answered shyly. 

“How very singular ! And you are reading 
King Lear, too! Did you study in the high 
school.?” 


134 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 135 


“No, ma’am, not in a high school. I have 
never studied much — in any school, though I 
have been in one. I knew King Lear was being 
played now, and wanted to read it on that ac- 
count. I like, too, to read what the critics say 
in the papers.” 

“I did not imagine you cared for — such 
things ; you always seem so wholly interested in 
your work,” Mrs. Otis said, smiling a little into 
Carina’s embarrassed face. 

“I hope I am that, too” ; and Carina’s flush 
deepened, while Mrs. Otis looked at her with new 
interest. 

“It is all the more a singular discovery to me 
because I came up here partly to ask you to go 
with me to-night. Mr. Otis doesn’t feel able to 
be out in the night air, and it is too late to ar- 
range with anyone else I care to take.” 

Carina gasped with delight. She had often 
been with Dick and a gay party to ‘‘first nights,” 
when she knew and cared nothing for players or 
plays, excepting as it gave her a chance to ex- 
hibit her beauty and her gorgeous “array” ; but 
now — and Shakespeare ! 

“We have a box, and you need not be conspic- 
uous ; so any simple gown will do,” Mrs. Otis 
added with quiet thoughtfulness. 

For a moment a vision came to the girl of her- 
self as she had often gone in “full war paint,” 
as Dick loved to have her ; so beautiful, he was 
fond of saying, it made one positively ache to 


136 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


look at her. She hurriedly did over her hair, put 
on a fancy white waist, with her usual black 
skirt, and was ready long before the carriage 
was announced, her heart full of eager anticipa- 
tion. 

It seemed to her all through the evening as 
though this other Carina she had known and her 
life were some tale she had read in the long, long 
ago and already partly forgotten; all but the 
black shadow it had thrown across the path of the 
new Carina. 

After that she often went as “companion,” be- 
ing always quietly introduced as such and treated 
with every consideration by the friends of the 
household, who took their cue from her gracious 
mistress. 

Mr. and Mrs. Otis, too, began to take great in- 
terest in her reading, sometimes putting ques- 
tions to draw her out a little and learn what 
progress she was making. When they found she 
understood some German and French, if no guest 
was present, they occasionally spoke one of these 
languages during the entire meal. 

There were many pleasant hours for Carina 
now, and her mind developed rapidly in keenness 
and general intelligence, absorbing both as a 
child does and a mature person trained to ob- 
serve. How could the same things seem so dif- 
ferent to the same woman? she questioned, as of 
old. “But I am not the same,” she whispered to 
her heart. 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 137 


One night a great English actor was to play 
“The Merchant of Venice.” For days his mer- 
its and those of the principal character had been 
discussed by critics at the table, sometimes with 
great spirit and considerable difference of opin- 
ion. Carina had enjoyed it all extremely and 
read the text for the first time, trying to form 
an opinion of her own as to just what Shakes- 
peare had meant to portray by the much de- 
bated character of Shylock. Mrs. Otis, looking 
up once during a dinner, when this theme was in 
full debate, caught the eager flash in Carina’s 
eyes as she moved, alert and noiseless, about the 
room. After the guests had withdrawn she came 
back. 

“Get Elsa to help you. May, with the work to- 
night, and be ready to go with us. It is going 
to be a great treat. You won’t mind sitting on 
the box with Robert.?^” 

Carina almost forgot her position, as she 
thanked her thoughtful mistress, for a vision of 
herself on the box brought the blood to her 
cheeks and a glow to her eyes. How would Rob- 
ert look.f^ Should she take the lines in her clever, 
trained hands and drive through the maze of city 
streets.? If she only dared ask him to let her — 
just once more! Her eyes sparkled with fun and 
eagerness ; then the light died down. She ! the 
table maid! Was she altogether forgetting her- 
self.? “But I do love a fine horse,” nature cried 
out in her, “and I do know how to drive.” 


138 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


As the spirited horses pranced along the fine 
avenue a messenger boy on a bicycle came sud- 
denly around the corner of a street on the wrong 
side, and, if Robert had not been altogether alert, 
a sad tragedy would have happened. As it was, 
he jerked his horses back almost upon their 
haunches. The peril was over in a moment, and 
the fine creatures sprang forward in amazed in- 
dignation. 

“Bravo, Robert, that was splendidly done!” 
Carina cried. “But what is the matter?” for 
Robert gave a low groan. 

“I’ve sprained me left wrist. Miss; whatever 
shall I do?” 

“Give me the lines quickly; I’ll manage them.” 

Instantly Carina took position, every muscle 
tense, every sense awake. The driver handed her 
the lines, too surprised to object. For five or six 
blocks Carina had all she could do to curb the 
frightened animals, but, by the time the crowded 
business streets were reached, she had them un- 
der perfect control, and threaded her way in and 
out the narrow passages dextrously and safely. 
Coachmen on all sides stared at her and occasion- 
ally gave her encouragement or applause as she 
worked through a tangle of vehicles and drew up 
at last before the theater in her proper order. 

“Put up at Slater’s, near here, Robert, and 
find some one to take care of your wrist right 
away,” Carina whispered. “I will drive back for 
you.” 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 139 


Robert had hardly got his breath, when his 
surprising companion slipped from the box. He 
lifted his hat gallantly, and Carina, carrying out 
her new role, opened the carriage door as though 
nothing had happened and this was her custom- 
ary service. 

The play was splendidly staged and the audi- 
ence in the best of humor. When the great 
actor-guest came upon the boards, it seemed as 
though he would never be allowed to speak, or 
the immense house to cease ringing with ap- 
plause. Carina leaned forward in delighted sym- 
pathy for the artist in this hour of triumph. It 
seemed so wonderful that one should have such 
power, that his very name and personality could 
take control of a vast assemblage before he had 
spoken a single word or proved himself worthy 
their honor. At last an introspective look came 
into his eyes ; they narrowed, and then a full, rich 
voice began. “Three thousand ducats — well.” 

Carina leaned suddenly farther forward in her 
chair, her breath coming in gasps ; her heart al- 
most stood still. That voice ! where had she 
heard it before.? She watched the man’s every 
movement, studied his head, his features, his 
hands, while her own grew cold with the intensity 
of her concentration. She must have seen him; 
but she had never even heard before of this 
actor. They had said he had not been in this 
country for many years, an Englishman! 

“Antonio is a good man.” There was a pecul- 


140 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


iar lingering accent on the ‘‘good.” Carina bur- 
ied her burning face in her hands. Now she knew. 
The splendid man of her childhood, he had spoken 
just so that last time he came, when he had wiped 
her tears from his hand and told her to “be a 
good girl and mind Mrs. Dole” ; her tears, be- 
cause she wanted a mother and father. All the 
old-time bitterness poured over her soul. She 
looked at him again, to find some resemblance to 
the image in her mind, but the bent, cringing Jew, 
Shylock, bore no likeness to the tall, handsome 
man she could see now as distinctly as fifteen 
years before. 

Soon she forgot herself and her memories in 
the perfection of the man’s art ; and when he said, 
in tones of wonderful pathos and longing, which 
seemed to burst from the father love under all the 
sordid greed, piqued pride, and fierce passion for 
revenge, the real heart of the man crying out in 
agony, “I say my daughter is my own flesh and 
blood,” Carina could bear the strain no longer; 
she leaned back in her comer and sobbed. 

Mrs. Otis, who sat just in front of her, turned 
around, and, laying her hand on the girl’s, whis- 
pered, “You must not take it so seriously, my 
dear.” 

The quiet words helped Carina back into 
self-possession, and she gave herself up once 
more to the exquisite love scene which soon 
followed. 

She longed to catch a glimpse of the actor 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 141 


without his disguise, but that was, of course, im- 
possible. When he came out before the curtain 
at last and spoke a few words of appreciation 
of his welcome, he laid his hand against his heart 
a moment and Carina saw upon it a curious ring 
she had forgotten until now, a dull, green gold 
serpent, with eyes of rubies, which caught the 
light and gleamed red and sinister. She needed 
no other proof of the man’s identity. 

All night she tossed on her bed without sleep. 
Elsa, lying placid, and snoring by her side, 
seemed like some memory or dream. Once Ca- 
rina touched her to make sure of the present. 
Was she, a waiting-maid earning her daily bread, 
the same child who had once been fed and clothed 
by this renowned actor.? What did it mean.? 
Dared she make herself known to him.? Dared 
she ask him to unravel the mystery of her birth 
and early life.? He must know something about 
it all. Should she confide in Mrs. Otis and ask 
her advice? What ought she to do.? Had she 
not a right to know about the parents who had 
brought her into the world, only to abandon her 
and leave her to the streets, to Dick, to the ter- 
rible loneliness in her heart, to the loss of her 
lover, to insult and outrage.? who had condemned 
her to a life of servitude.? She could never for- 
give them; and if this world’s idol knew, if this 
great, splendid actor could tell, he should be 
made to do so. She would go to him and implore 
him with tears and prayers to tell her the truth. 


14 ^ 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


These thoughts turned over and over in her mind, 
bringing the inevitable reaction each time. 

With all her thinking, she could arrive at no 
conclusion, and, the next day, tired almost beyond 
endurance, she dragged through her tasks, still 
turning over the all absorbing question. Mrs. 
Otis said to her once during the day, “I am afraid 
I cannot take you to any more plays. You look 
positively sick. What was it that overcame you 
so.?” 

“The man himself, I think, the Shylock.” 

“Yes,” Mrs. Otis replied, “it was the finest 
piece of work I have ever seen done on that char- 
acter. He was equally fine as Romeo. His play- 
ing was enough to steal more than susceptible 
matinee hearts away. One would not think him 
a remarkably handsome man from his Shylock, 
would she.? but he is — though of course no longer 
young. No one who does anything worth while 
on the stage nowadays is. We have grown too 
critical to be satisfied with the crude, immature 
conceptions of youth, I fear; a loss and a gain at 
the same time. It is not always comfortable to 
know too much, is it.? ‘Since ignorance is bliss — ’ 
But I am not sure that some of us would not 
rather know more, even if we are not so blissful. 
I just a little suspect a certain girl is too ambi- 
tious and works too hard for even her young 
nerves. Now you smile; that is better.” 

Mrs. Otis stopped a moment, as she went out 
of the door, and looked keenly at Carina, who 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 143 


stood erect, with the light from the window full 
upon her beautiful face, her lips parted, her eyes 
looking far away, back into her childhood. She 
was watching a splendid, fair-haired man go out 
of a dreary room. There were ugly chromos on 
the faded, streaked walls. There were fly specks 
on the dingy chandeliers. There were stains on 
the patched carpet, even if it was velvet. One 
chair, she knew, would fall, should anyone attempt 
to sit on it, and the sofa wobbled. She could feel 
its uncertainty now, as her hand rested against 
it. He paused undecided. He stooped as she 
sprang toward him, but he did not kiss the tear- 
ful child looking pleadingly up into his frowning 
face. A hard, bitter expression settled upon the 
girl’s mobile mouth, and she turned back to her 
work, trying to forget all but that. There was 
to be a special luncheon to-morrow, and unusual 
preparations were being made. 

Mrs. Otis had only said four notable guests 
were coming, and she was anxious everything 
should pass off satisfactorily. Carina shook her- 
self, as though by a physical effort she could cast 
off the lethargy which seemed to benumb all her 
powers and keep her from putting heart into the 
present duty and service. It was uphill work, 
and night found her spent in body and mind, but 
no nearer a solution of her own problem. 

The next day was perfect ! The pleasant house 
was in spotless order; the most fastidious mis- 
tress or guest, even though an epicure, could have 


144 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


found no fault. When the guests came into the 
dining room, all the strength left Carina’s body, 
and, for a few minutes, everything grew dark 
about her. Shy lock? Romeo? No; a curly 
blond head, great, dark eyes, like burning coals, 
under the peculiarly heavy black brows, a firm, 
strong mouth, with the deep wrinkles that the 
acting of many parts had brought about its cor- 
ners. How well the girl knew every feature of 
that unusual face ! The years had not changed, 
only deepened and accentuated, its peculiarities. 
He could not be more than forty-five or fifty now, 
she thought, a man in the full prime of his superb 
powers. As he came through the door, stooping 
a little from habit, on account of his unusual 
height, he laughed merrily at some remark his 
companion was making, and his face, which was 
stern and sad in repose, lighted up until he seemed 
for the moment incarnate sunshine. 

Carina, who had not been able to take her eyes 
from him, felt suddenly that she was catching a 
glimpse of the real man, and that his heart must 
be a kind, “human,” loving one, after all. Per- 
haps she had done him injustice, that under the 
mask which he generally wore was one to whom 
she could appeal for news of her parents, for 
some explanation which was, at least, her due. 
With such a face, he must be good and just, she 
thought. But, when he had taken his place, an- 
other expression came into his eyes, and the lines 
of his mobile features settled into a cold, sad in- 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 145 


difference, as though he were thoroughly bored 
with existence, himself, and everyone about him; 
as though he had tested life at every point, drunk 
its cup to the very dregs and found it only bitter; 
as though it would be “a consummation devoutly 
to be wished,” if he might wrap “the drapery 
of his couch about him,” and lie down in any- 
thing but “this mortal coil.” 

The familiar words came to her half-conscious 
thought as the girl watched his face, fascinated 
against her will. Somehow, somewhere, in her a 
pity was growing. Wealth, beauty, power, fame 
were not all; she had learned that lesson well. 
Something had failed this man ; something was 
gnawing at the heart of him, despite the fact that 
the world was at his feet. 

At a gay rally from his hostess his naked soul 
retreated again into its cell, and only the man of 
the world answered. “Certainly not considering 
Shylock’s losses, my guest Mrs. Otis asked, 
laughingly. 

“No, indeed, only regretting my own inability 
to do adequate justice to the good things of life;” 
and he waved his hand toward the table. 

Once while serving the actor, Carina’s face was 
bent toward him, so that the two heads were 
almost in line. Mrs. Otis, happening to look that 
way at the moment, started so that the spoon in 
her hand dropped to the floor. The striking re- 
semblance that she had caught several times, 
when he was playing “Romeo,” to someone she 


146 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


knew or had known was suddenly explained. 
'With an astonishment she could hardly control 
she rapidly compared hair, eyes, brows, mouth, 
chin. There they were, side by side, her honored 
guest and her waiting maid, a male and female 
replica of the same mould! 

Carina stepped silently to her side and picked 
up the spoon that had been dropped. As she did 
so, both she and her mistress were struck by the 
expression in the actor’s face. He had appar- 
ently just noticed Carina for the first time, and 
now sat with lips apart, eyes wide, with a ques- 
tioning look, rapidly changing into one almost of 
terror! Used as he was to dissimulation, he 
seemed to find it impossible to hide the commotion 
in his mind. When he became conscious that his 
hostess was looking questioningly at him, his face 
relaxed, and he said with a forced laugh, which 
even his art could not make sound sincere, “I 
cannot divest myself of the power a certain char- 
acter I am studying has over me, and find myself 
falling into the part at most inopportune times. 
We are queer people, you know, and sometimes 
almost have to doubt our own senses and iden- 
tity.” 

His rapid explanation, which was no expla- 
nation at all, did not deceive his hostess, who, 
with her usual delicate tact, quickly diverted his 
mind into a safe channel. 

Carina had regained her poise with a presence 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 147 


of mind greater than the man of the world had 
shown, but Mrs. Otis saw she was under terrible 
tension. Her eyes had a wide, strained look, and 
two bright red spots burned in her cheeks. 
Once when their hands touched, the girl’s were 
like ice. There was something startling and 
almost regal in her beauty to-day. Mrs. Otis had 
never thought much about her appearance before. 
The large cap almost covering her bright hair, 
which was always drawn tightly away from her 
face, her quiet, black dress, her timid, reserved 
manner and utter absence of self assertion had 
made her seem only an unusually wholesome, fine- 
looking maid, with nothing especially to mark her 
as someone out of her class. She and her hus- 
band had often remarked about her superb car- 
riage, and wondered somewhat at her love for 
good books ; but they had once been served in a 
German family by a maid from the lower classes 
who walked like an empress, and had so beautiful 
a face and voice that the daughters of the house- 
hold were jealous of her, and she was soon dis- 
charged. Perhaps, too, Carina had acted her 
chosen part so well that they were completely de- 
ceived. At any rate, under the peculiar circum- 
stances Mrs. Otis awoke to a realization of the 
girl’s extreme beauty and otherwise unusual 
qualities. She remembered her own surprise at 
her emotion during the ‘‘Merchant of Venice,” the 
look in Carina’s face the next morning in the din- 


148 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


ing-room, and now the strange incidents of this 
luncheon, with the confusion of these two human 
beings socially so far apart! 

It all thoroughly aroused her curiosity, and 
it was with difficulty she commanded her voice 
sufficiently to ask her distinguished guest a little 
later, ‘‘Have you ever been in the United States 
before?” 

“Yes, indeed! I had the good fortune to be 
bom here,” he answered. “Most people don’t 
know that though, and I have almost forgotten it 
myself at times, although, deep down in my heart, 
I have a great love for my native land and her 
institutions. I have not been here for fifteen 
years, however. Circumstances” — he hesitated a 
moment — “drove me out to wander in foreign 
parts then, and I have never really wanted to re- 
turn — until lately. I hope now to remain here 
for the most part, but I am a restless creature, 
and to-morrow may be gone, who knows where?” 
He laughed a little bitterly. 

As he talked, Carina, who stood near him, ut- 
terly forgot time, place and duty ; she leaned for- 
ward drinking in every word; hope, fear, longing 
were pictured in rapid succession in her speaking 
face. He was to stay here! She would cer- 
tainly have a chance to find him and learn her 
history. 

The luncheon! dragged wearily along. For some 
occult reason no one was quite at ease. Even the 
brilliant hostess for once found circumstances 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 149 


beyond her control. At last one of the other 
guests started a topic which seemed to break the 
deadlock and clear the atmosphere. Soon an ani- 
mated discussion of other arts, especially music, 
was in full swing. 

“Germany thinks it has discovered a wonder- 
ful genius,” a prominent editor remarked; “an 
American composer who bids fair to make some 
others in view fade utterly out of sight, it would 
seem. Plays, too, marvelously, a second Paga- 
nini, if we may believe the eminent German’s en- 
thusiasm not overdone. He is to give a recital 
in Leipzig, after playing one of his own composi- 
tions at a Gewandhaus concert. How is that for 
an introduction .P Oh, we will make those old fel- 
lows over there open their eyes and ears yet, and 
show them all virtue and ability isn’t to die across 
the sea.” 

“They certainly know now,” said another 
guest, “that we understand and appreciate the 
best they can do, and are willing to pay their 
own price for it, too. Turn-about will only be 
fair play. Let them heap all possible encomiums 
upon our “rising genius if he really be one, 
they can honestly applaud. It’s up to them now 
to reward us for the admiration and devotion we 
have paid them, to say nothing of the gold with 
which we have lined their pockets.” A general 
laugh arose at this challenge. 

“What is the name of this new U. S. star.?^” 
asked a third guest. 


150 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“Donaldo Donaldi,” was the answer. 

“Too bad that he doesn’t use his American 
name,” Mrs. Otis remarked. “I don’t like to have 
even Jones turned into Monsidi.’ ” 

“What’s in a name?” laughed the actor. “An 
assumed one is as good as a mask to hide behind, 
and leaves one a chance to live a private life, even 
while before the public.” 

“Yes, alas ! sometimes it does,” the musician re- 
turned, laughing. The color surged over the ac- 
tor’s face. “You Americans prefer a foreign- 
sounding name,” he retorted, “and would not do 
your ‘Jones’ justice, perhaps. Foreign impre- 
sarios and managers know that, and sometimes 
force an assumed, high-sounding, ‘artistic’ name 
upon an unwilling Jones or Smith, because it will 
mean money in his pocket. This genius who is 
beginning to shed his light faintly above the hori- 
zon has probably been persuaded with some such 
argument, to add an O and I to the very common 
Scotch name of Donald.” 

Carina, who was just lifting a delicate wine 
glass, gripped it so hard that the fragile stem 
broke. She caught it deftly before it could fall 
upon the cloth, and only her mistress noticed the 
accident. She looked quickly into the blanched 
face of her remarkable maid. Would this hour 
of surprises never end? she wondered. 

When her thoughts returned to her guests, the 
actor was saying, 

“I don’t really think you — ^we Americans need 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 151 


anyone to teach us self-appreciation; we seem 
abundantly able to do ourselves full justice.” 

‘‘I don’t quite agree with you,” Mrs. Otis said, 
laughing heartily. “Some of our great or ‘near- 
great’ measure themselves, to be sure, well up to 
their worth; some, too, that are not so great, out- 
side of their own ‘mind’s eye ;’ but, as a people, 
I think we are not quite fair to our own painters 
or composers. We are still too prone to bow 
down to others’ prophets. I am thoroughly 
American, and not only believe in what we are 
going to do, but in what we are doing now. May 
I give you our honored guest of the day and she 
rose gracefully, holding up her glass. 

When the last one had passed out of the room, 
Carina sank into a chair, and for a few minutes 
let happy tears stream down her face. It was 
such a relief after the almost unendurable strain 
she had been through. 

There could be almost no doubt that Donald 
was at work over there with the great masters. 
Already they were singing his praises and com- 
paring him with the very greatest. He was com- 
posing and playing, the gentleman had said, and 
the echo of praise was already sounding on his 
native shores. If Janet MacDonald knew, was 
she willing now that someone else should work 
the farm? Carina wondered. 

A flood of tender thoughts swept over the girl. 
For a moment all her own pain and suffering 
seemed of little account, if this had come of it. 


152 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Was he perhaps singing out his heart-hunger and 
loneliness to her; trying to earn her praise, first 
of all? thinking always of her prophecy and striv- 
ing to make it come true? 

The egotism of love sang triumphantly in her 
soul. She had believed in him that night, while 
his arms were about her, while his kisses were 
warm upon her hungry lips. Yes ; and she be- 
lieved in him now, although no word had passed 
between them since, no sign been given for two 
long, long years. Oh, the weary hours, when 
this belief had been all that had kept her in the 
hard path of drudgery ! But she would work, 
and study, and grow fit for the hour which would 
perhaps sometime come when she had won. What 
else mattered? 

She sprang to her feet and clenched her hands, 
stretching out her strong, young arms. What 
difference who this actor was? who her parents 
were? He, like them, had not troubled to ask 
what would become of her when her soul was lost 
in the mire ; she would not try to seek him out. 
They had all abandoned her ; now she would aban- 
don them; they should be nothing to her life. 
She was clearing a path for herself ; she would 
cease to waste her life’s blood in useless longing to 
“belong” to someone ; she did belong to Donaldo 
Donaldi. 

Despite the jibing comments of the guests, she 
rather liked the musical iteration. Wasn’t he 
partly Italian himself? Didn’t the glad, warm. 


THE PLAY AND A LUNCHEON 153 


singing blood of sunny Italy flow in his veins? 
That was what made him tender and loving, in- 
stead of hard and calculating like Janet MacDon- 
ald. That was what had given birth to his gen- 
ius and made it impossible for him to be a farmer 
like Janet. That was what made him love her 
beauty. Carina looked critically at herself in the 
sideboard mirror. Her beauty? She tore off 
her cap, and, throwing it upon the floor, pulled 
out the hair pins, loosened the sunny coils, and 
swiftly piled them lightly on top of her head. 
She seized a soft Italian scarf, which was draped 
behind a marble head in the corner of the room, 
and arranged it with inimitable grace over her 
black waist. She took a pose, as so often in the 
days at Dick’s, when she had convulsed them with 
her imitation of Bernhardt or Duse, outdoing Gil- 
bert herself in rare cleverness. 

Hearing a slight noise, she turned hastily from 
the mirror to confront the astonished eyes of her 
mistress. “I came to look for my handkerchief, 
but hardly expected to see a comedy,” she said 
coldly, ‘‘although even a Bernhardt might envy 
you your grace, and — youth,” she added truth- 
fully. 

Quick tears of mortification rose in the girl’s 
eyes, as she stammered, “Please forgive me. I 
don’t know what came over me. I promise never 
to be so — so silly again.” 

“Perhaps you could not help it,” Mrs. Otis re- 
plied with a keen look into the girl’s face. Who 


154 * 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


knows? I should pick up my cap now, if I were 
you, and clear my table,” she added with a smile. 
Instantly Carina dropped a courtesy, and said 
meekly, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Before night, Mrs. Otis received a telegram 
that a favorite brother in Chicago was sick to 
death, and all thoughts of her incomprehensible 
maid and the day’s experiences were driven from 
her mind. 


CHAPTER XIII 


ALONE AGAIN 

The ‘‘English” actor, whatever the cause of his 
emotion and confusion at the luncheon, made no 
further sign. His life was one of constant hard 
work, with a multitude of details and frequent 
surprises of one kind or another. Perhaps the 
memory of the strikingly familiar face of his 
friend’s handsome waitress, which had, singularly 
enough, for the moment completely disturbed his 
equilibrium, slipped entirely from his mind, 
crowded out by the fullness of his active life ; or, 
possibly by some jugglery of the will he refused 
to harbor it. Three days later he went on to 
other cities, winning gold and plaudits wherever 
he appeared. Everywhere he was feasted, flat- 
tered, and adored, sought after by the rich and 
great, made an idol by the foolish, fickle, female 
fanatics who bore the lives of all mundane stars. 

Carina saw a photograph of him one day in a 
window, when she was out for a walk, and, moved 
by a sudden impulse, went into the store and 
bought a copy. Sometimes, while brushing out 
her hair at night, she would gaze intently into the 
deep eyes, as though to read his secret, and her 
own history in their depths ; but, despite the vio- 


156 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


lent upheaval in her heart, she had resolved to 
go steadfastly on her independent way, and she 
turned back to her work and studies with renewed 
zeal and determination. Her life now, with its 
impulses and motives, was tangible and real, no 
uncertain guess work, with a more uncertain 
issue. She could see her way ahead, and felt that 
she was moving onward and upward, slow though 
the progress might be, and she was full of cour- 
age for the future. 

One morning, as she was serving his breakfast, 
Mr. Otis said quietly without looking up from 
his paper. “Mrs. Otis has written. May, sug- 
gesting that you might like to attend a business 
college evenings and fit yourself to be a secretary. 
She thinks you suited for such work and 
that it is a pity you should not be earning 
the larger pay you could get in that capacity. 
There is nothing to prevent you going, is 
there.?” 

“No sir,” Carina answered eagerly, “I should 
like to attend very much.” 

“Then we will consider that matter settled. 
You may begin at once, if you like.” 

“I cannot thank you enough,” she began, but 
was cut short. 

“Prove it, prove it,” the business man answered, 
burying himself in his paper again. 

Four months later Carina’s mantle, or, to be 
more truthful at the expense of the artistic effect, 
her cap and apron were fastened upon faithful. 


ALONE AGAIN 157 

plodding Elsa and Carina took a place in the 
office of Mr. Otis. 

All winter the latter had been mildly miser- 
able, and, when spring came on, the family physi- 
cian advised him to give up all work and take a 
trip abroad. Mrs. Otis, too, had been sadly de- 
pressed by the death of her favorite brother. So 
it was decided early in April to close the house. 
The pleasant family life was broken up. It was a 
bitter trial to Carina, she had felt so happy and 
secure in the delightful atmosphere, especially of 
late, since she had become more and more a com- 
panion. Mr. and Mrs. Otis had given her every 
possible chance for growth and general develop- 
ment, and now she felt almost like a child again, 
set adrift in the world to find her own way as best 
she might. 

Mr. Otis recommended her to a firm he thor- 
oughly trusted, and she found a quiet, inexpen- 
sive room not too far away, and set up an estab- 
lishment of her own, as nearly like Jean’s as she 
could. Much as she longed to, she dared not 
hunt up the kind friend and suggest that they 
make a little home together. She dared not ask 
her own heart what Jean might know of the 
stranger she had taken in. Perhaps Donald had 
told her it was this fair-haired, homeless, worse 
than homeless girl, who had filled him with a dis- 
content, and finally sent him away from home and 
friends. Some day, perhaps, it would all be 
changed and they would thank her for this very 


158 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


thing. Some day, when Donald should return 
with the world at his feet, perhaps they would 
forgive the girl everything, even her lost soul. 
Some day, when she, too, had proved herself to 
the uttermost and worked out her salvation, they 
must forgive. 

She ventured to walk through the familiar, 
quiet street, with its patient houses, one after- 
noon. Jean’s window had a “To let” sign in it. 
It seemed to Carina that she must go across the 
narrow street, and inquire whether anything had 
happened to her friend ; but, strong and brave as 
she was for herself, she shrank timidly from any 
chance of bringing trouble to those she loved. 
She could only trust that Jean had found some 
place more to her liking and wait. 

If it had not been for her strong faith in a 
future she could make yield to her will, Carina’s 
courage would often have failed her now. It had 
been comparatively easy to be, if not happy, at 
least content with her work in the sheltered home, 
but now, out among men and in the bustle and 
strain of commercial life, she found herself 
shrinking more and more from contact with other 
people. All that had grown sweet and womanly 
in her revolted from the unnecessary familiarity 
which business relations day by day between men 
and women inevitably brought, rubbing off the 
delicate bloom of reserve, if not of respect. She 
saw, more and more, a sort of callousness grow- 
ing on her women associates that filled her with 


ALONE AGAIN 


159 


a certain sense of wrong. The pity of it ! 
Women who were not protected in homes, cared 
for by tender, strong, loving men, soon lost some- 
thing, she could hardly define what, but her whole 
nature shrank before it. She knew Donald had 
loved most of all in her this powerful femininity, 
and she must preserve it at any cost; but the 
struggle was wearing. Day after day she went 
wearily to her room, more discouraged than ever 
before in the years since she began to grow. 
How could one grow, when too tired even to 
think ? 

As she passed a billboard one evening on her 
way home, a notice caught her eye, and brought 
the quick color to her cheeks. A concerto of 
Donald’s was to be played by the Boston Sym- 
phony orchestra at their next concert in New 
Yorkl It was their last concert of the season. 
Carina had heard no music since leaving the Otis 
home. She would buy a ticket ! She would be 
there! Who could interpret his message as she.^ 
Surely no critic, however wise. The response to 
his heart would be in her own ; their spirits would 
be en rapport as no others could possibly be. 
Yes, she would be there, his best critic, the sharer 
in his certain triumph. No one in the vast audi- 
ence would imagine that, away up there in the 
last row of the gallery, a modest, quiet woman, 
who would be unnoticed even by those nearest her, 
was his love^ his, the “Master violinist and com- 
poser’s,” that she was comprehending him as 


160 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


they, with all their learning, could not possibly do ! 
She hugged her joy to her heart, as she bounded 
up the dark, narrow stairs to her room. 

It seemed to Carina as if the intervening days 
would never pass, full to the last moment as she 
had to make them. There was to be a new gown 
too. Only something fresh and dainty would do 
for this supreme occasion, for her lover’s tri- 
umph. It was such a very simple garment, so in- 
expensive ! A bit of lace on many a one she had 
worn in the old days had cost more than this 
whole “creation.” She laughed aloud at the in- 
congruity of the term. But then it was pretty ! 
old rose mousseline de soie, only thirty-five cents 
a yard! What would Dick think to see her in 
such a gown? He had thought nothing too rich 
or expensive for her, especially expensive. A 
shudder passed over the girl. 

At last the night came. The concert hall was 
packed to the doors. Someone with a dreadful 
name ending in “sky” was to play Donaldo Don- 
aldi’s concerto. There was that indescribable air 
of expectation throughout the house which fuses 
a multitude into a unit, and makes silence audible. 
At last the artist began. As he played, people 
began to stir restlessly, grow listless, and finally 
occupy themselves in the various ways common to 
those who are bored. When he finished, a weak, 
uncertain patter of applause broke out, growing 
somewhat louder as the audience evidently awoke 
to the courtesy due their foreign guest. He 


ALONE AGAIN 


161 


came out once, and the damning applause utterly 
ceased. Donald’s concerto was a failure. If he 
had thought there was a message in its strange, 
weird, unusual combinations, no one else seemed 
able to understand it. To Carina, awake in 
every nerve up in her quiet corner, it had spoken 
nothing. Great tears rolled down her pale 
cheeks and dropped unheeded on the dainty new 
gown. 

At last she wiped them away furtively. Her 
next neighbor, apparently surprised, and curious 
at her emotion, whispered, “Did you like that.'^ I 
couldn’t make anything out of it.” 

“But I do believe in him,” Carina confided to 
her heavy, disappointed heart over and again, 
in the long night watches, as she tossed restlessly 
from side to side. 

“He did not find the right expression that time, 
but it is in him. He will, he must, win them!” 
And she cried herself to sleep, sobbing like a 
weary, hurt child in its pain. 

The morning papers seemed strangely confused 
about the much-lauded new composer, some going 
so far as to pronounce him evidently crazy. 
Others thought they saw elements of strength. 
One conservative old critic urged the necessity of 
hearing the composition several times before a 
fair opinion could be formed. Donaldi was cer- 
tainly original and honest. There was the pos- 
sibility of great things in his future. “We must 
hold judgment in reserve,” he concluded. 


16 ^ 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


It was all cold comfort to Carina’s sensitive, 
loving heart. She knew Donald had failed this 
time ; whatever excuse or palliation they might 
offer, he had certainly failed. ‘‘Fine, honest, 
scholarly, full of talent,” whatever the expres- 
sions of faint commendation they might use, she 
knew that, if it had been a true utterance of gen- 
ius, the listening world would have known without 
question what was “piped.” He had not yet 
found himself! 

The days dragged wearily along. Carina 
loved her work, and even more the faithful per- 
formance of its requirements ; but the kind 
friends, with their sympathy, were gone, and new 
and casual acquaintances could not fill the blank 
in her life their going had made. She came home 
one night feeling bitterly how alone she was in 
the great city. Its rushing, swirling tides of hu- 
manity seemed, somehow, not to belong to her or 
she to them. She could not keep her thoughts 
from going over the problems of her own life, 
and they oppressed her until she grew morbid with 
the effort to understand them. Was it possible, 
after all, ever to undo wrong? Could one ever 
really forgive one’s self or be forgiven by the 
world? She felt like a child, timid and anxious, 
groping for a path, limping, halting, and uncer- 
tain. Introspection was not natural to her. She 
was too wholesome, too strong and normal. She 
could work out her own salvation, perhaps, but 
not think it out. She grew confused at once be- 


ALONE AGAIN 


163 


fore the ethical, moral side of her problems, and 
could only feel that things had not been right. 
She began, however, to comprehend dimly, that 
no one may think only of himself and his pleasure. 

It had been a long, hard road she had walked, 
or stumbled, along almost alone, but she began to 
understand some things at last. She knew the 
one great desire in her own heart since that ter- 
rible night in the “Chamber of Peace” had been 
for truth, absolute truth; but she knew so little 
of what it was, or where, and how it might be 
found. To have put on armor and gone forth 
like the knight in search of the Holy Grail, to 
have done something tangible, to have been able 
to count off the miles she had travelled toward a 
goal, all that would have seemed in a way simple 
and easy; but this groping in the dark! 

She turned the searchlight of truth inward 
again, and shrank back aghast when it showed to 
her growing sensitiveness a new phase of her own 
weakness. 

Dick’s mother — alas ! she had forgotten all 
about her in her selfish desire to escape his per- 
secution. Dick’s mother had said, “They always 
know what they are doing.” But surely it could 
not be her fault that this aged woman was going 
down to her grave with a broken heart. She had 
cursed the “fair-haired” woman, not knowing the 
circumstances as they really were. She had not 
even been willing to listen to possible explana- 
tions. Behind that screen Carina had hidden 


164 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


herself all these months. But had she been so 
unjust after all? Carina turned and writhed un- 
der the pitiless questioning of her heart and mind. 
All night she battled, and, not until a faint streak 
of light in her eastern window proclaimed the 
dawn of a new day, did she at last lay off for- 
ever the robe of “innocence” and a “great per- 
sonal injustice” under which she had been walking 
in “justifiable self-defence” and come to a point 
where she could share the blame for it all with 
Dick. The “better-than-thou” spirit, which had 
in a sense kept up her courage, left her, and she 
saw herself, not victim alone, but co-partner in 
a selfish crime, for which she too must seek to 
atone, if such a thing were possible. All her 
pride was gone, all bitterness toward Dick turned 
to deep contrition for her own share in that 
which had not only stained their own lives, but 
darkened or ruined the lives of others. 

She felt now that she had some right to plead 
with him, whatever the consequences to herself. 
She must try to find him through the papers, the 
police; in some way she mwst find him. He 
would not try to hide from her, as she had from 
him. A hot blush rose in her cheeks as she re- 
membered how easy it would probably be to call 
him to her side ; but she mwst plead with him to 
go back to his mother, because they, — not he, but 
he and she, — had forgotten all honor and duty, 
everything, for selfish, sensual pleasure ! 

Her mind dwelt so persistently on the subject 


ALONE AGAIN 


165 


that she was not greatly surprised one day, 
within a week of her self-conquest, as she was walk- 
ing home from the office, to come face to face with 
Dick. Her first impulse was to hurry by in self 
defence. A cold, physical horror of him froze 
her blood. She had recognized him instantly, 
although he had grown very stout and his face 
looked coarse and heavy, as from constant dissi- 
pation. She could easily slip away, and hide her- 
self in the throng of toilers bending their steps 
homeward. 

Even if a second thought, that here was the 
very chance she had been longing for, had not 
made her hesitate, the firm grip of his hand on 
her arm and his voice harsh in her ear would have 
ended the question of flight. He had seen her. 

“Now I have you at last, minx. What have 
you to say about the mean trick you played me.^ 
Answer that, will you.?^ Don’t think that game 
can be played on me twice. If you try to leave 
me now, I will call the police. I want you, and 
I intend to have you, ungrateful girl! Besides 
all I did for you, I have spent a whole lot of good 
money trying to hunt you down. Oh, yes, I have ; 
more fool I! And to think that you walked un- 
veiled into my very arms! Good.?^ Hey.?” 

Carina’s hand went to her head involuntarily. 
She had indeed forgotten her veil, and all other 
precaution, of late, in her happy security. 

Paying no attention to his threats, which she 
felt could mean nothing here in the crowded 


166 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


street, she waited until he stopped speaking, evi- 
dently for her to reply, and then said quietly. 
“I am very glad to see you, Dick, I have so much 
to say to you.” 

She tried to speak steadily, but her voice 
shook and her hands, which were tightly clenched, 
as if to give her strength, trembled in spite of her 
efforts at self-control. She knew she was afraid, 
and he knew it too. An ugly sneer broke from 
his full, uncertain lips. 

‘‘Speak out. It is high time you had some- 
thing to answer. I shan’t eat you up, though 
you look like a toothsome morsel, several of them. 
Taken good care of yourself; hey?” 

“Dick,” she began again, “my heart is break- 
ing with our failure to be true friends and com- 
rades to each other.” 

Dick threw back his head and laughed in a 
thick hard voice. “Oh, that’s it? Nice little 
girl has grown pious, hey.^^ Or does it want to 
come under shelter from the storms of life once 
more ?” 

“I don’t know what you mean, Dick,” Carina 
answered slowly, at the same time looking earn- 
estly into his bloated face ; “but when you left me 
in the country, I became acquainted with your — 
mother.” 

A low oath sprang from her companion’s lips. 
Carina hurried on: “I had no idea who she was, 
only that — ” she hesitated an instant — “she was 
sick and a friend of Mr. MacDonald’s. I saw 


ALONE AGAIN 


167 


your picture in her album and although I was 
only a casual acquaintance who had gone to see 
her several times because she was — she was alone 
and sick, — a broken-hearted woman with no child 
to care for her, I had been told, — she felt my 
sympathy and poured out all her whole story — 
to mCy Dick, think of it ! to me! She cursed the 
‘yellow-haired’ woman someone had seen go to 
the home where he lived under an assumed name. 
This woman, she said, had ruined her son and 
broken her own heart. Don’t blame her, Dick; 
she could not understand. And, Dick, she loves 
you just the same as ever, and she is slowly dying 
of hunger for your love. Down in her heart you 
are still her ‘little boy,’ a sweet, pure, fair-haired 
little boy, Dick, and she wants you more than 
anything else in this world. Never mind what 
has been, or what is, — a loving woman’s heart 
doesn’t ask questions, it just forgets and loves. 
Go to her, Dick; she is holding out her poor, 
scarred hands to you. Don’t you remember, you 
told me once how they had worked for you early 
and late, never too weary, that you might have 
an education, that you might have chances that 
had never come to her, that you might grow to 
be a great man, as she dreamed.^ O Dick, 
can’t you see them, all worn, and drawn, and 
gnarled for you.? Won’t you go back to her be- 
fore it is too late, and care for her, and love her 
to the end.? You were always so kind to me, so 
good and patient, in those early days! She is 


168 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


your mother. Go to her and make her forget 
everything excepting that you are there, loving 
her. Comfort her, Dick, won’t you.?^ Dick, 
Dick, go to her.” 

They had stopped in a secluded doorway, as 
Carina poured out her heart in the eagerness of 
her desire to touch him. In her anxiety she took 
both his hands in hers. 

“Promise me you will go to-morrow, Dick ; 
promise me.” 

At last the man broke down. 

“Poor mother!” he groaned. “Are you sure 
she is still alive, Rina.?” 

“Yes, because I saw in the local paper a short 
time ago a notice of a surprise party the village 
had given her. She was — O Dick I how can I tell 
you? she was in positive need, an object of char- 
ity; so poor.” 

“Good God, Rina 1 I am a beast.” And Rich- 
ard Corwin covered his face with his hands. At 
last he got control of his voice again. “I will go 
to-morrow, to-night, if there is any chance. I 
wish you could — ” he stopped and straightened 
himself. “No, I’ll not be a sneak, not now. Are 
you sure you are all right ?” he asked, in a broken 
voice. 

“Yes, indeed! well and hard at work trying to 
live an honest life. Good-by now.” And she 
gave him her hand once more. “Thank you, 
Dick.” 

Lifting his hat, Richard Corwin turned away 


ALONE AGAIN 169 

without another word. Carina knew he would 
keep his promise, for that had always been one 
of the points upon which he prided himself. His 
“sense of honor,” as he called it, made him keep 
his promises. 

A great load was lifted from Carina’s heart for 
a few minutes, and then settled back with the re- 
action from the strain she had been under. She 
could only think now of the long months when, 
in selfish fear for her own safety, she had for- 
gotten this lonely mother. It seemed incredible 
that she could have been so cruel and selfish. 
What a long, weary road it was, this coming to 
be anything like the ideal she had set before her- 
self} What if it were too late after all.?^ Then 
the personal element thrust itself still further into 
the foreground and her eyes glowed like coals. 
At least Dick could never haunt and torment her 
again ; she felt sure of that. He had asked no 
questions about her home; he had — her heart 
gave a great throb of joy — he had treated her 
with respect and honor for the first time in her 
life. He would never laugh at her again, or 
scoff at her lack of “soul” with men at his club, 
or even in his own heart. The quick tears, which 
seemed to lie very close to the surface to-day, 
started again, this time in humble gratitude for 
a reward from so unexpected a quarter, although, 
through selfish cowardice, she had been so untrue 
to his mother. 

Her newly awakened conscience was rapidly 


170 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


growing strangely sensitive. She hardly knew 
what to do with it. Sometimes she tried in vain 
to throw off the unaccustomed yoke. There had 
been another queer experience troubling her for 
several months, the feeling that she was being 
watched, her goings and comings spied upon. 
Once a slender, quiet-voiced, quick-moving woman 
had stopped her just as she was going into her 
boarding-house, with some question of direction, 
and had seemed so obtuse that Carina was obliged 
to explain at length some trivial matter, con- 
scious all the time that every detail of her ap- 
pearance was being examined by eyes behind a 
veil. Once or twice, as she hurried down the 
narrow, darkening street after working hours, 
she felt sure someone was stepping behind her 
close enough to watch her every movement. She 
had grown almost morbid on the subject, suppos- 
ing that Dick was trying to find out where she 
lived, although it did not seem quite like that, 
either. At last she had decided, or nearly de- 
cided, to get a new boarding-place in a distant 
part of the city, but had not yet found time to 
hunt up just what she wanted. She now felt 
that she need not worry about the matter any 
more ; but, just as she neared her home, the slight 
figure hurried by again and slipped away into 
the darkness, only to meet her face to face at 
her own door. 

‘T beg your pardon,” a queer, squeaky little 
voice quavered out, while its owner squirmed and 


ALONE AGAIN 


171 


screwed about in an uncanny manner that sent a 
feeling of impatient disgust through Carina’s 
normal frame. “I beg your pardon ; what’s your 
name, please, Miss.?^ You are so much like a 
— a lady I’m trying to find.” 

Carina had grown so used to her adopted name 
that she answered without thought, ‘‘May Wil- 
son.” At this the woman, catching her breath 
quickly, said, “I — I am sure, I beg your par- 
don,” and hurried away. Carina then went in 
and shut the door ; but immediately, feeling a 
strong impulse to hurry after the stranger and 
give her own name, she opened the door again and 
ran hurriedly down the steps, looking eagerly 
into the dim street. No one was in sight. 

The incident disturbed her unaccountably. 
She felt tired and utterly discouraged. Should 
she never be allowed to lead a peaceful, honest, 
straightforward life, without a fear of some sort 
at her heart, without dogging footsteps at her 
heels, shadows from a past that even she knew 
little about darkening her path.?’ Was there any 
use in the battle, single-handed and alone.? 

Old temptations stirred in her blood once 
more, urging her to find companionship, beauty, 
ease, music, and mirth, the joy of life; to get 
away from all this questioning, this hopeless 
struggle after something which was, after all, per- 
haps only a chimera. She was so lonely, 
awfully lonely. She was so young, yes, and all 
men’s eyes told her, beautiful! With a sharp 


17 ^ 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


cry Carina sprang up and felt about in the 
gloom for the match safe. Was this she who 
had just sent Dick to his mother.? Light! O, 
God I she must have light ! She was faint and 
hungry, that was all. 

The cheerful glow of the lamp, shone about her 
little room. It was bright and pleasant. It was 
hers, paid for by honest work; and there was no 
man or woman in the wide world she could not 
look in the face now. Carina hung up her hat 
and jacket and drew out the little stove. Billee, 
her canary, awakened from an early nap by the 
sudden light, broke into a gay roulade. On the 
table lay some letters. One bore a foreign 
stamp. It was from Mrs. Otis. She was not 
alone! She tore the envelope open hastily and 
kissed it passionately. No, she was not alone. 

No word had come, from the travellers for over 
a month. Carina’s eyes flew over the letter. She 
had begun to fear something had happened to the 
dear friends ; but no sad news greeted her ; only 
friendly gossip about men and things and their 
many varied experiences. But presently she 
came upon something that made her open her 
eyes wide, and wider yet : 

“Mr. Otis does not feel like doing half the things 
I want to, and we have decided it would be much 
better for me to have a companion. How would you 
like to come over as soon as possible and meet us in 
Hamburg? If you will come, take a ship sailing di- 


ALONE AGAIN 


173 


rect to this port, and we will meet you at the wharf ; 
that will be the simplest. Don’t bother about clothes, 
only have something warm for the voyage. Mr. Otis 
is writing to your employer, and there will be no 
trouble at that end. I find I have grown fond of the 
bright-haired inmate of my dear home in America, 
and I shall be very glad to see her again and have 
her pleasant companionship. If you will come, have 
Mr. Watts cable us at once. He will also arrange 
money matters for you and us. Hoping to see you 
soon. Lovingly your friei;id, 

“Gertrude Otis.” 

Carina’s cup was full to overflowing now. She 
sat down in her rocking chair once more, vision 
after vision of longed-for pleasure passing swiftly 
through her mind, until the little kettle cheerfully 
boiled over and almost put out the fire, which sput- 
tered defiantly and scolded the girl back to this 
world of solemn realities. Then she remembered 
that she was hungry, very, very hungry. 

When at last the tea was ready, she took Little 
Billee’s cage down from the chair and set it on 
the table. 

“I must have some one to talk with, Billee. 
You will have to listen. I must talk because I 
am so happy, so happy, do you hear.? I am not 
alone. Someone cares, someone wants and needs 
me in the world; and — put your head down while 
I whisper, he is over there across the sea, too, 
somewhere, Donald, Donald!” 


CHAPTER XIV 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 

Ten days later Carina DuCheyne stood on the 
deck of an outward-bound liner watching the 
crowds swaying back and forth around her. It 
was the old, old scene, but very new to her, and 
full of deep human interest. Nothing escaped 
her eager eyes and ears ; the ringing of bells, last 
calls, the hasty stowing of belated baggage ; fare- 
wells, some merry and gay, as though time and 
distance were of little moment to light hearts, 
others sad and anxious, as parting dear ones 
moved unwillingly down the gangway, while those 
left behind, leaned as far as possible over the 
dividing rail, seeking in vain to dry straining 
eyes, so long as loved forms could still be seen. 
Carina seemed to herself to be standng outside of 
it all, with no part in the action, until, looking 
once more at the crowd of uplifted faces below, 
she gazed straight into a pair of eyes which 
seemed to gleam with malicious spite, while a look 
of triumph curved the thin, blue lips. It was the 
uncanny little shadow which had been following 
her for weeks. A shudder ran over the girl’s 
body. Why should this evil spirit pursue her, 
174 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 175 


even on the sea, with its eager curiosity and 
apparent venom? 

The hawser creaked and groaned, as the great 
ship was warped into the channel. Carina shook 
herself free from the numbness which had begun 
to settle over her. Whatever this evil haunting 
her might be, she could not learn its nature now. 
She was leaving it all behind, turning her face 
toward a new life, which promised to be richer 
and fuller than any she had yet known. Cour- 
age rose again as she joined the passengers who 
were rushing to the stern for one more glimpse of 
friends on the end of the wharf, pushing and 
struggling for the most conspicuous spot from 
which to see and be seen. 

When, after nine days, the splendid queen of 
the ocean drew up in spotless array, proud of her 
conquest of winds and waves, at another wharf 
thousands of miles away, Carina saw two eager, 
smiling faces turned toward her own in glad 
greeting, and hurried down to meet the new life 
they were opening for her. 

As the days flew by, it became more and more 
evident that Mr. and Mrs. Otis were forgetting 
she was only their paid companion, and not their 
child. Both seemed to take the greatest pleasure 
in buying her all sorts of pretty and becoming 
things and surrounding her with every comfort. 

“You must let me do it, dear,” Mrs. Otis said 
one day, when Carina mildly protested, “because 
I have never had a daughter of my own, and I have 


176 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


always wanted one — so much.” Her voice broke 
a little ; then she smiled, and hurried on. “These 
things seem to belong to you, too. There are so 
many people, you know, of whom one cannot say 
that. My pleasure is doubly selfish,” she ended, 
with a laugh, partly to hide the deep emotion in 
her heart. 

Rich color dyed Carina’s cheeks at the delicate 
compliment. It was all very wonderful, having 
someone care for her again, as Janet MacDonald 
had done, planning, with her as a center. It was 
like a fairy story come true ; and for her, who had 
never known any in her barren childhood, it 
seemed too beautiful after all the starved years 
of hard, lonely struggle. 

They went leisurely from place to place, not 
trying to “do” any city, but tasting here and 
there the peculiar delights of each; taking time 
to study and thoroughly enjoy what appealed to 
them. The days became weeks, and the weeks 
months. As they slid by, Carina was conscious 
that she was always looking for Donald, that she 
never entered a train or public place without 
searching faces for his, especially in the great 
music centers, Paris, Milan, Dresden, Berlin, 
Vienna; and, that, each time she turned away 
from one, an intolerable fear oppressed her, that, 
without knowing it, they might have been very 
near each other. Despite all j the delights and 
distractions of travel, her heart grew sick with 
its longing. It seemed strange that she saw his 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 177 


name nowhere, not even in musical journals, and 
heard no mention of him by musicians they met 
from time to time. And yet, much as she longed 
to see him, there was always, deep down in her 
heart, a feeling that she must bide his time. It 
was she who had sent him away, and even now 
dared not call him back. He must find her, as 
he said he should. 

She tried to be content, but, full as the days 
were, restlessness almost overpowered her. Once 
the temptation came to write to Jean for his ad- 
dress. She even wrote the letter, then remember- 
ing she did not know where the sister was either, 
tore it up impatiently. 

“I could go away, and settle down contentedly, 
if I could only see him,” she said to the sympa- 
thetic moon. It was like a deadly homesickness 
that would not listen to reason ; the more she tried 
to control it, the more absurdly persistent it 
grew. She was ashamed of herself ; but even that 
did no good. Probably, discontented with his 
work, he had shut himself up in some retired place 
until he could come forth to conquer the world. 
That would be like him, she thought. 

Her memory flew back to the Italian garden he 
had made over there in the homeland, where few 
men would have thought such a thing possible 
without unlimited means. She lost herself for a 
while in sweet memories of the happy hours they 
had spent there together before she had begun to 
— think. She remembered his patience year 


178 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


after year on the farm, doing his very best in a 
distasteful round of common duties, beautifying 
them by cheerful faithfulness. He was a man 
through and through, as well as an artist, and it 
would be like him not to be satisfied with any- 
thing but the best. Her own faith in that ‘‘best” 
had never wavered, and she could not believe his 
had either. He was too strong, too large, for 
failure or that worse thing, contentment with 
partial success. 

She wondered very often during these days 
about Janet MacDonald there in her home alone; 
about Dick and his mother. How had it all come 
out between them.? She thought, too, of the two 
dear little children, back in the dreary grandeur 
of the New York “home” that she had been 
obliged to leave so suddenly, and in so undigni- 
fied a fashion. 

Jean she had been obliged to shun, too. All 
these limitations galled her. There was a sen- 
tence Janet MacDonald had read one day. She 
remembered how a thrush sang near the open 
door that morning, as she washed up the dishes ; 
how the dear little white bantam bridled up to 
her in the afternoon with a great worm, as 
though to share its treasure; how the evening 
star — it had been Venus — twinkled as Janet read 
those words, “The wages of sin is death.” All 
the sky grew dark within and without her, as she 
remembered. “Death,” it meant, of all possible 
fineness in one’s nature, she understood that now; 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 179 


‘‘death” to a clear, just conscience; “death” to 
freedom of spirit and life, even on the material 
side ; “death” to sweet, pure, friendships ; “death” 
to simple, unalloyed happiness. She had learned 
the lesson in deep bitterness, and now began to 
understand why it had to be so. Cause and ef- 
fect; Law more inflexible than that of the Medes 
and Persians ! Here she was, cut off on all sides, 
hemmed in, fearful of exposure, anxious and 
troubled, lest her past become known, even to 
these who were so kind to her now, lest a dark 
specter should arise somewhere and confront 
her! 

The old sense of helplessness before life swept 
over her. Catching up her hat, she hurried out 
of doors to get away from herself and be with 
nature. Perhaps that would help. 

They were resting for a few days in a quaint 
little German town. She climbed the hill behind 
the Pension up to a great plain, and then wan- 
dered on, and on, regardless of time or distance. 
Presently, to her delight, she came upon a brook 
which leaped and sang in the dear, familiar way 
of the one at Donald’s home. All the cobwebs 
disappeared from her mind and the mists from 
her vision. She got down on her knees and 
dipped her hot hands in the cool water, greeting 
it as an old friend. Here at last was a bit of 
home just as pure, free, and melodious as over 
there far beyond the sea. Gradually a great 
peace came over her spirit, and, lying down in 


180 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


the sweet, green grass and moss, she let its mes- 
sage sink into her heart. 

Perhaps she fell asleep ; she was not sure ; but 
a strain of exquisite music brought her to partial 
consciousness. Involuntarily she looked into the 
sky. Had she died and gone to heaven.? Sud- 
denly she sat up, then sprang to her feet, peering 
eagerly up and down the stream. No one was in 
sight. Still the music rang in her ears. She put 
her hand to her cheek. There was no fever. A 
strain rose full and rich — Donald’s ! 

She remembered now, as though it had been 
yesterday, the plaintive wail of the hungry heart, 
a theme he loved well, and about which he had 
woven all the fancies possible to his artist soul. 
She remembered how he had asked her if she under- 
stood, and then, giving up even that divine me- 
dium, how he had taken her hands in his and 
poured out all his love in burning words that she 
had heard singing in her heart ever since. She 
had believed him then, she believed him now. Full 
of curiosity about the musician who seemed to 
have caught Donald’s very spirit, Carina stole 
softly toward a clump of bushes deeper in the 
greenwood through which the brook ran. Push- 
ing her way carefully forward, she came at last 
upon the musician. Higher and higher the mo- 
tive rose, in richer and more triumphant figures, 
bursting at last into a paean of praise for victory. 
She could not see the man’s face ; it was turned 
away. Wholly absorbed in the expression of his 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 181 


overmastering passion, he had apparently not 
noticed her approach. Carina sank to her knees 
in the deep grass and listened in reverent awe to 
the end. He seemed tired and worn, and almost 
shabby. Probably he was one of those students 
whose art absorbed all their energies ; who for- 
got food and drink, and even friends, in this one 
compelling love, their intense souls consuming 
their bodies, refining all that was gross and ma- 
terial. 

When the last strain died away, he sank down 
exhausted and leaned his head upon a tree, with 
his face turned toward her. It was Donald him- 
self. In spite of the fact that Carina had been 
always looking for him she was wholly unpre- 
pared for this meeting. For a few minutes an 
awful struggle raged in her heart, the unendur- 
able hunger just to touch him, to feel his arms 
about her once more, to hear his voice telling her 
he still kept the vows made so tenderly by that 
other brook, that he was still working for her. 
She had told herself she could bear it, just to 
see him. She must not forget now. She had 
told him he must consecrate himself wholly to his 
work, prepare himself fully for a great future, and 
now, if she went to him in her weakness, if she 
disturbed him in this time of preparation, might 
she not divert him from his purpose, and injure 
that very future on which she had given him the 
strength to enter.? If she went to him now, 
should she have the strength to leave him again.? 


182 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Would he let her go? Reason’s answer was 
clear enough. His time had not yet come, or he 
would have sought her, — “to the ends of the 
earth,” he had said. 

Gathering all her strength of body and mind, 
she looked again at his rapt face. He was well. 
He did not need her. She must go her way once 
more, and leave him to his task. Rising slowly, 
so as not to rustle the grasses about her, she tot- 
tered back, step after step, drinking in the beauty 
of the strong face so dear to her, moaning softly 
to herself : 

“Donald, Donald, I love you — I love you more 
than my life, more than anything in all the great 
world. Be true to me, love ; be true to me ; come 
back to me.” She stretched out her arms to him. 
No, she had imposed too great a task upon herself. 
She must go to him whatever the consequences ! 

She ran quickly back through the low bushes, 
then stopped suddenly. He had again taken up 
his instrument, and, laying it lovingly against his 
chin, began to play, his eyes far away, his face 
smiling up into the sky, as though for the moment 
he were communing with angels. With a sob the 
girl dropped again to her knees and hid her face 
in the grass. It was sacred ground. What 
right had such as she here, shcy with her sin? 

Chords of music, like a sublime anthem of 
achievement, seemed almost to rend the frail in- 
strument. Suddenly, from somewhere beyond, a 
sweet-faced girl, with long fair braids, came 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 183 


softly to Donald’s side and stood looking down 
into his face with adoration in her deep blue eyes. 
She laid her hand gently on his shoulder, and in- 
stantly the music ceased. He put down his in- 
strument, and, taking her hand in his, kissed it 
reverently. She said something to him. Carina 
was too far away to hear, but she saw him rise at 
once and, taking up the violin, walk slowly away 
with her in the opposite direction. No ; it was 
no place for her here. God in heaven ! he had 
forgotten her! 

She moved backward again, forcing her unwill- 
ing feet to carry her anguished heart, until the 
bushes closed together and she could no longer see 
their retreating forms, then ran like a frightened 
fawn, to be away, only away before strength and 
courage should utterly fail. She could not 
think ; she would not think ; only fly from 
the darkness that had settled about her 
black as night I How she reached her room, 
she never knew. Excusing herself from luncheon 
on the plea of a hard headache, she threw 
herself into a chair and sat, hour after hour, 
gazing blankly at ugly chimney pots. Donald 
had forgotten his vows ! They were all alike ; 
any pretty face, any adoring woman ! 

Finally the bitterness passed. After all, what 
had she seen.? Might not the girl be simply a fa- 
vored pupil who had gone out to walk with her 
master.? Of course, that was all. She had been 
wild with her own struggle, or she would not have 


184 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


given the incident a second thought. In the 
olden days, she had heard girls in Germany did 
not go out to walk with young men in this way 
unless they were engaged to them; but probably 
customs were different now. And yet how Donald 
had bent down toward her, looking into her eyes, 
as they walked along very near each other, his 
whole attitude speaking of deference, reverence, 
love! Bitter, jealous thoughts, like black imps, 
tortured her. In all the months they had been 
separated she had never thought of this possibil- 
ity, had never doubted him for one moment ; but 
now the evil, green-eyed monster had her in full 
control. All her strength of will and purpose 
seemed to have left her. All motive for struggle 
had been suddenly taken away. The one prop 
on which she had leaned up the long, weary hill 
had fallen from under her. How could she go 
on? Why should she try to, now that the goal 
was out of sight ? Donald no longer cared ; he 
would never come back to her now, never; there 
was no joy or light in the world for her, only 
pain and utter darkness. Mrs. Otis was shocked 
when Carina came in to dinner at the girl’s 
drawn, white face, which seemed suddenly to have 
grown withered and old, as though all the springs 
of her being had been sapped; but she asked no 
questions, only expressing sympathy for the 
headache, and urging her to get to bed early and 
sleep it off, if possible. 

Carina tried to interest herself in the conversa- 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 185 


tion, all the time arguing and reasoning with her 
aching heart, trying to persuade it that she had 
done the proper thing in mastering the insane 
desire to go to him, telling it over and over that 
the girl was probably only a pupil, that every- 
thing would be all right in his own time, if she 
would only be sensible and wait ; but it did no 
good, and as soon as possible she escaped to her 
own room and threw herself face downward on 
the hard sofa. 

There was a soft knock on the door, and with 
little ceremony a red-!cheeked madchen came in 
with a high basket from the laundress. Carina 
sprang up with a confused greeting. She liked 
the girl and often asked her questions, be- 
cause she loved to hear her talk. Perhaps she 
could tell her about Donald; she must know, she 
must. With a face as red as the girl’s, she 
asked, “Do you have much music in the village, 
GreteL?” 

“Ach ja, recht viel, Fraulein.” 

Carina led her on to talk of what seemed to 
interest her. “We have now an American here 
once. He can play and compose beautiful. He 
lives with the old meister, Herr Franzl, and his 
daughter.” 

“Is — is she fair and tall.?^” Carina asked, half 
in a whisper. 

“Ach j a ; and one says she will be engaged to 
the American. They are together always, and 
she love him more even than her father once. 


186 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


The American, he play to her while she play 
pianoforte to him. Oh, ja! hours and hours long, 
all the hours. Ja! he will love her much already, 
or she will die.” 

“You think he loves her.?” Carina asked with 
blanched lips, and waited, as though her life de- 
pended upon the answer. 

“Ganz sicher, Fraulein I Everybody knows 
that already. How could it be anders.? She will 
be his Frau.” 

Carina sank back in her chair. “You may go, 
child.” And as the girl still lingered, an anxious 
look in her face, Carina roused herself once more. 
“That is all, good-night.” 

Then it was true. Even this humble maid 
knew what all believed. If she could only go to 
him and ask him the truth.? She started up 
quickly and looked around for her hat, and then 
sank back again. How could a self-respecting 
woman do that.? She, of all people! He had 
simply forgotten her. It had only been a “sum- 
mer’s diversion.” As she said the ugly words 
pride rose in her. Why should he not love the 
girl.? She was young, lovely, pure, no doubt, in- 
tuitively musical, able to comprehend and accom- 
pany him, and probably would be a model “Haus- 
frau” besides. And she.? Had she not friends? 
Could she not travel, study, grow? She could 
give all her mind now to culture. There was no 
answer but the clamor in her aching heart. Life 
had once more played with her, tossed her into 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 187 


its upper air, only to let her fall, this time harder 
than ever. 

Mr. Otis had come from Munich some days 
before to this quiet little place among the hills 
to recuperate from an illness. To Carina’s joy, 
at breakfast Mrs. Otis said they had decided to 
go at once to Leipzig, where he planned finishing 
a book he was writing, and where he could have 
an opportunity to consult some special authori- 
ties on his subject. Just the man he wanted was 
there now. They would find a quiet place and 
settle down for the winter. Carina could go on 
with her German and music if she liked. They 
had discovered that the girl had a rich contralto 
voice, and in the previous winter in Milan she had 
taken her first lessons. Then she had worked 
with Donald always in view. She would some 
day surprise him. He had told her once he be- 
lieved she could sing. “And then I will play 
your accompaniments, beloved,” he had said. 

Carina turned deathly, pale as this terrible be- 
reavement gripped her heart anew. Mrs. Otis 
sprang to her side with a glass of water. 

“Dear child, are you sick.'^ I am afraid that 
walk yesterday was too much for you.” 

“Yes,” Carina stammered, “I am afraid it 
was.” 

“I think we had better put off our going, if 
you are so miserable, dear.” 

Carina’s face grew even paler. “Oh, don’t, 
please don’t, Mrs. Otis. I — we must go. I 


188 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


mean — don’t disarrange your plans. I shall be 
all right. It is nothing.” 

The older woman looked questioningly at the 
girl into whose face the rich color surged again 
and whose eyes were far too bright ; but could not 
urge an explanation, much as she longed to know 
what was troubling one she was coming to love 
tenderly. Perhaps for that very reason she 
wanted her confidences to be spontaneous. But, 
although Carina was deeply touched at the large- 
minded attitude of her friends and the utter confi- 
dence they manifested in her character, she was 
not yet ready to open her heart to them. 

Some weeks after she had joined them in Ham- 
burg Mrs. Otis opened the subject which had in- 
terested her so much at the luncheon, just before 
her brother’s sickness and death had driven the 
matter, for the time, from her mind. She asked 
Carina in the most kindly and delicate way to 
tell her about herself some day. And the girl, 
touched by the evident sincerity of her interest, 
determined to tell her all the truth, simply and 
frankly, trusting to her woman’s heart and the 
instinct of motherhood for fair judgment. She 
told the story of her lonely, neglected, abandoned 
childhood; all about Dick, not shielding herself 
in any way or blaming him, only reciting the 
facts just as they were. She told of the “Cham- 
ber of Peace,” of Janet MacDonald; but of Don- 
ald and their love for each other she could 
not speak. She told how she had tried to live 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 189 

an honest life, to be absolutely truthful, faithful 
to herself and to right, as she had come to under- 
stand it. She told how very, very slowly and 
painfully she had found out the truth about 
things and learned to discern real values. When 
she finished her story, tears were streaming down 
Mrs. Otis’s face. She reached out her hands and 
took Carina’s in a close, warm clasp. When she 
could command her voice enough to speak, she 
said softly, “Thank you, dear child, for your 
confidence; it has not been easily given, I am 
sure. Do you know who said, ‘Neither do I con- 
demn thee?’ ” 

“Yes,” Carina answered in a whisper. 

“And you have learned the ‘condition’ He 
made.” 

For a long time each woman sat silent with 
her own thoughts, for each heart had to adjust 
itself to a new relationship. They were no 
longer simply mistress and maid, but friends, 
friends for life, the one ready to lead where she 
could, the other to follow where she might. 

At last Mrs. Otis broke the oppressive silence. 
“I should like to have you take your own name 
again. It seems to me it would be better. Ca- 
rina DuCheyne! It is very lovely and musical! 
Don’t you remember any face from your child- 
hood excepting that of the gentleman who some- 
times came to see you and gave you money, and 
then disappeared out of your life?” She leaned 
forward, watching Carina’s speaking face. “Did 


190 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


you never see him again, perhaps in after years, 
since you grew to womanhood?” She purposely 
made her questions more searching. 

A painful flush rose to the girl’s face. Dared 
she speak of her certainty that the great artist, 
the wonderful “Shylock,” was the memory of 
her childhood? she wondered. She had meant in 
her bitterness of heart and pride of independence 
never to speak of him to anyone, and yet these 
friends had been so very kind; in a certain sense 
she owed them all the facts she knew about her- 
self, and in her desire for perfect honesty she 
said, “Yes, in the ‘Merchant of Venice’ and at 
your table once.” And she hid her burning face. 

“I was sure of it, child,” Mrs. Otis cried. 

Carina looked up in astonishment. “I don’t 
understand you,” she stammered. 

It was Mrs. Otis now who hesitated to arouse 
in this girl, battling so bravely for an honest 
place in life and winning it, in a sense, without 
anyone’s help, a desire to pierce the dark veil 
which hung over her birth and childhood, perhaps 
only to bring fresh shame and dishonor upon her 
or add a sorrow she would never be able to for- 
get. She felt unable to decide the matter alone, 
and at last determined to wait until she could 
put the whole story before her husband. So 
she parried a little, and only answered when Ca- 
rina urged her to say what she meant. 

“I saw you were very much excited about 
something that day. Do you remember how the 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 191 


wine glass snapped in your fingers? They trem- 
bled like leaves, and I knew something very seri- 
ous was disturbing you. Then, when you for- 
got your work, in a mood so unlike anything I 
had ever seen in you, I naturally began to study 
you with great interest. Have you heard of the 
actor since?” 

“No,” Carina replied. 

“Why did you not try to find him and ask 
what he knew?” Mrs. Otis was feeling her way 
carefully to draAV the girl out without forcing 
her. 

“I don’t know. I am afraid that perhaps I 
was too bitter or proud.” The tension had be- 
come too great. She threw herself down on her 
knees and hid her face in Mrs. Otis’s lap. Wave 
after wave surged over her ; it had all been so long 
repressed and she was so unused to sympathy or 
interest. 

Mrs. Otis understood that the flood-gates had 
been closed long enough, and did not try to quiet 
Carina. She only stroked the beautiful head 
gently and lovingly, and let the tender fingers 
rest now and then on her hot cheek, intuitively 
feeling her need and what would help it most in 
this hour, a sympathetic, human touch. 

When the tempest had passed, Carina looked 
up into her face, smiling a little wanly. “Please 
forgive me ; I did not mean to give way and be a 
baby ; but it is so new and sweet to have some one 
care — a little.” 


192 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“I hope you know how much I care,” Mrs. Otis 
said in a shaken voice. 

She had been astonished that no word of bit- 
terness or blame had escaped the girl’s lips. She 
could hardly believe that one so young could have 
shown a courage for life and a charity broader 
and deeper than she felt her own could possibly 
have been under the circumstances. There was 
certainly much more to this girl-woman than she 
had suspected. If only she had felt able to seize 
the pregnant moment which might have saved 
her, what — 

Carina looked up, perhaps feeling her friend’s 
mental attitude. “You think I should have 
hunted him up and insisted on learning what he 
knew of — of my parents.?” 

“I do not know,” Mrs. Otis replied frankly. 
“And yet I feel that it was your — right,” she 
ended hesitatingly. “It is a very delicate mat- 
ter. I don’t see why he — ” she began again and 
broke off abruptly. “May I tell that part of 
your story to my husband.?” Carina blushed 
painfully. “Perhaps his judgment will be better 
than ours about what may be done.” 

“I — if you think — best,” Carina answered 
slowly. 

Evidently she could hardly face the possibili- 
ties in the matter, and yet she knew how gladly 
she would find her parents, if they were yet alive. 
The bare thought almost stopped her heart. 
Was the chance of it worth — the other chance of 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 193 


unknown shame and sorrow? For she, too, had 
faced this possibility. Suddenly a vision of a 
tense, malicious face, with hatred in its eyes, 
came to her. She had forgotten the mysterious 
woman in her tale. 

Mrs. Otis listened to this added bit of history 
with a grave face. “It is very strange about 
her. If you had only given her your real name, 
it might have solved all the mystery, though this 
also may not be your real name and might have 
given her no clue. Can you remember whether 
the gentleman called you Carina — ever?” 

“No, I don’t think he ever spoke my name.” 

“It is all very blind, and I do not feel quite 
sure that we ought to try to solve it. Perhaps 
it is better to let the matter rest, if you can, and 
be content.” And Mrs. Otis looked keenly at 
the girl. “We are your friends, dear Carina. I 
am going to use that sweet, caressing name all 
the time, may I?” 

The girl kissed her hand lovingly. “One thing 
I want to say now : whatever is or is not ; what- 
ever has been in your past or may come in your 
future, I want you to know that I believe in you 
and trust you implicitly, and love you, too.” 
She stood up, and, putting her arms about the 
girl, drew her close. “I want you to come to me 
in all your troubles and your joys,” she added. 
“I don’t think you have opened all your heart to 
me to-day, dear, have you?” And she smiled 
in her bewitching way into the beautiful eyes. 


194 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


They closed quickly over the girl’s secret. 
“Never mind! Some day, perhaps, that will 
come, too. I must not be selfish. I will wait 
for it,” she said softly. “Now put on your hat 
and run out into the fresh, beautiful morn- 
ing. The air is like wine, and will do you 
good.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed the sweet 
mouth. 

After that a very tender and beautiful rela- 
tionship grew between the two women, deepening 
every day. It was like a new life to Carina. 
She had never really had a woman friend before. 
Janet had hardly been that. Though by un- 
spoken consent they did not talk again of her 
history, she felt the tender sympathy which would 
be ready, she knew now, for any emergency; and 
it was a constant source of comfort and strength. 
In such an atmosphere Carina grew more lovely 
than ever and became a great delight to her 
friends. 

Mr. Otis was shocked beyond words at Ca- 
rina’s sad history, but he, too, felt the difficul- 
ties in the situation. The man’s affairs were pri- 
vate, if he chose to keep them so, as he apparently 
did. He had evidently not recognized the girl, 
or else decided against any claim she might have ; 
and yet Carina had her rights, too. He felt in- 
clined, on the whole, to leave matters to time for 
solution, so long as Carina was well loved and 
protected and not unhappy. 

Days and weeks slipped by, but he could not 


NEW JOYS AND OLD SORROWS 195 


get the subject out of his mind. At last he wrote 
to a mutual friend in New York, asking a few 
questions about the actor’s history, and before 
long received a short letter in reply, which, how- 
ever, was rather noncommittal. 

‘‘I know,” the friend wrote, “that, like so many 
in his profession, he has had a very hard, sad life, 
one full of singular experiences which at one time 
almost cost him his reason and made him bitter 
and unapproachable for many years. I lost 
track of him for a long time, and, of course, do 
not know what he may have lived through in that 
period, only that he won fame in Europe, es- 
pecially in England, which latter country he 
seemed to have adopted as his own. I have not 
seen his name mentioned since he left New York 
City. My impression, however, is that, after 
touring in the larger Western cities, he planned 
going to Australia for a long engagement. I 
won’t be certain about the place either; perhaps 
it was South America. Sorry I cannot write you 
more definitely. He is in many respects a very 
lovable man. Did you not find him so? He is 
unusually self-centered and probably selfish, like 
the most of us, but, after all, kind hearted and 
generally attractive. It was a gala time for us 
at the club while he was there, though men of 
that stamp usually have a sort of reserve which 
keeps one on the outside of their real lives, how- 
ever much of an atmosphere of ‘hail fellow well 
met’ they carry about with them. Interesting 


196 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


man, very interesting! Wish I could tell you 
more.” 

There was not much available information in 
this. Mr. and Mrs. Otis felt distinctly disap- 
pointed ; for they knew of no other move to make, 
and were not only curious about it all themselves, 
but anxious, if there were anything which could 
be set straight and bring joy to the girl, to have 
a hand in bringing it about. 

Carina was always hard at work in her many 
and varied new interests, especially her studies, 
and seemed cheerful and contented. If she had 
sad hours which even their constant, loving 
thoughtfulness could not fill, she made no out- 
ward sign. 


CHAPTER XV 


LEIPZIG DAYS 

The travelers reached Leipzig about the end of 
September. There were many things in and 
about the old city to interest them, although 
some of the peculiar and distinctive features, old 
landmarks Mr. Otis had learned to love in his 
student days, had given way to ‘‘modern improve- 
ments” and uninteresting structures which might 
be seen everywhere in their characterless ugliness. 
He had a feeling of resentment against the 
“greed” which thought only of more offices to let 
and greater rents to gather in. Historic value, 
literary associations, artistic merit, architectural 
beauty, all were swept away incontinently, if they 
stood in the path of “progress,” often only an- 
other word for “income.” He had to give a 
growl, or rather a continued series of growls, as 
he walked about the distressing hodge-podge of 
ancient and modern “positive-mixtum,” as he 
scornfully expressed it. 

“It is only inevitable growth and development, 
my dear,” comforted his wife. 

“Development backward!” he scoffed. “I wish 
they would at least wait until I die before they 
197 


198 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


make the whole world into a money-getting ma- 
chine.” 

There was simply no use in arguing the matter 
with him, suggesting the need of the new life and 
enterprise which was putting Germany forward 
so marvelously under the energetic, far-sighted 
rule of its emperor. 

“All right,” he sputtered again. “If that is 
your idea of progress. I think a great deal of 
what is called progress to-day is only a terribly 
thin expansion.” And that was his last word. 
It was always easy to know when Mr. Otis had 
spoken his last word on any subject, and that 
was one thing Carina liked in him. He never 
wasted words or talked just to hear himself. 

At last they decided to settle down for the 
season in a very pleasant square on Sidonian- 
strasse, on one side of which there was a sort of 
private “company” garden, shut in from the out- 
side world by a great iron fence, with a ponder- 
ous gate, which was closed at eleven o’clock in 
the evening and opened at half-past six in the 
morning, giving quite an air of elegant exclu- 
siveness to the place. Around three sides of the 
garden were dwelling-houses, some of them rather 
stately and important, living quite “up” to the 
fence and gate. Others were more modest, yet 
with nothing of the air of “poor relations.” 
Each had its own little grass-plot and arbor 
skillfully and most admirably adapted for the 
open-air breakfast and afternoon “Kaffeeklatsch.” 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


199 


It was, on the whole, a very delightful place, 
where one could have a sense of being “etwas 
apart,” as the landlady said, away from the 
noisy, busy city life, while, in fact, right in its 
midst. It was a charming situation, and one 
which made even irate, disillusioned Mr. Otis 
somewhat resigned, despite his memories of for- 
mer ‘‘good old times.” Carina could easily walk 
into the old city across the Augustus Platz or 
out into the newer section around the present 
Gewandhaus, across Johanna Park to a seductive 
Milcherei, where one drank milk from great mugs 
like biersteins, foaming and warm, from dry-fed 
cows that one could hear lowing near by in their 
tidy, sanitary quarters. It was just then the 
“proper thing” for invalids to be sent out there 
every morning to drink this nectar to the above 
described accompaniment. 

The idea struck Carina’s fancy, although she 
strongly suspected the wily physicians had much 
more in mind the benefit to their patients from 
the early walk in the charming park than from 
the famous cure at its farther end, toward which 
afflicted ones turned their steps in faith. She 
very soon became “addicted” to both the walk 
and the drink, and almost every morning went 
out there for her simple breakfast in preference 
to taking “coffee and rolls” in the stuffy break- 
fast room, with its rows and rows of family por- 
traits, framed in narrow funereal rims and hung 
flat and stiff against the wall, from which they 


200 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


stared in cold, injured, aflFronted pride at this 
“Auslanderin” who ventured, in exchange for 
base, filthy lucre, to consort with them on an 
equality they could not contest. They were very 
depressing company, and Carina came to feel 
willing to dare even the fog of soft coal which set- 
tled down over the city almost every night, and 
slowly and sulkily moved off in the morning, if it 
chose, or sluggishly piled itself up into thicker, 
denser banks, rather than to do such an impolite 
thing as to eat where her presence was so evi- 
dently not desired. 

To be sure, the present owner of the Pension 
did not seem to share these aristocratic preju- 
dices, for her protest was mild and generally ex- 
pressed itself only in surprise at Carina’s indif- 
ference to the harmfulness of the early morning 
air. Often she met gentlemen walking or riding 
through the park, for a “constitutional” prob- 
ably, but never noticed any of them particularly, 
and could not have told whether she met the same 
one twice or not. Sometimes there were ladies, 
generally American or English, and apparently 
students, hurrying across to an early lesson at the 
conservatory. 

One day when she came into the house, her face 
glowing from exercise, Frau Schmidt opened the 
door herself, her round face flushed and impor- 
tant. 

“Ach, liebes Fraulein ! we know now why you 
go out for a walk in the Johanna Park every day 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


201 


once. Now we find you out and, taking Ca- 
rina mysteriously by the hand, she led her into 
her own room, and then hunted in the daily 
“Zeitung,” her nearsighted eyes peering eagerly 
up and down its columns. 

“Ach ja; da ist es. Listen oncel” and she 
read aloud an astonishing advertisement. 

“An honorable gentleman of a fine family, rich, 
and of a university education, who rides daily in 
Johanna Park, begs permission, with honorable 
intentions, to become acquainted with the tall, 
fair-haired American or English lady he meets 
there between seven and eight o’clock in the morn- 
ings. He humbly hopes the lady will not be of- 
fended at his presumption, but will do him the 
great pleasure of making known to him her ad- 
dress.” 

“The rude creature!” Carina cried angrily. 

“Ach nein ! Not so, Fraulein. He is rich, 
quite a fine gentleman,” Fraulein Schmidt expos- 
tulated, with upraised arms. 

“He cannot be, to put such a thing into the pa- 
per. No gentleman in America would think of 
doing anything of the kind. I am extremely an- 
noyed.” 

“Bitte, bitte, Fraulein; but it is quite the cus- 
tom mit us. Be not so angry already. It is 
good meant, ganz gut 1 It is j a ein Kompliment.” 

“It may be in your country; in mine it would 
be decidedly an insult. Now all my pleasant 
walks in the park are put an end to ; that is all 1” 


S02 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


And Carina flew out of the room like a whirl- 
wind, leaving the astonished landlady to the con- 
solation of her one explosive “Graslich !” which 
seemed to mean a large or small amount of dis- 
gust, according to the quantity of breath she ex- 
pended on it. 

Mr. and Mrs. Otis, knowing the ways of the 
country, were inclined to laugh at Carina’s con- 
quest. They comforted her with the assurance 
that the man might easily be entirely honorable 
in his request and a gentleman, who, if she made 
no answer, would understand and not annoy her 
further. Of course, the walks in the park at the 
early morning hour could be given up for a while. 
So, very reluctantly, Carina went several blocks 
out of her usual way to avoid the romantic rider. 

Several days after the advertisement had ap- 
peared there was a knock at her door one morn- 
ing, and the landlady, looking somewhat uncer- 
tain and half apologetic, came in with the paper. 

“Fraulein, bitte, here is once more was for you. 
The gentleman who asked already humbly per- 
mission to acquaint with the young lady of the 
Park — he, Fraulein, begs most earnest pardon 
that he deprives you from your walk once, and 
also that his wishes were most sincere, and will 
you not walk again already. Sehen Sie? Read 
it.” 

‘‘I don’t care to read any more, thank you,” 
Carina answered, without looking up from her 
mending. “Please don’t bother me with it.” 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


203 


‘‘But, at least,, he has most polite asked pardon, 
doch?” Frau Schmidt added, with rising inflec- 
tion. 

“Yes, that is the least he could do,” Carina 
answered in a vexed tone. 

“Ja wohl, Fraulein.” And the landlady, with 
the air of having had a personal affront, looked 
disapprovingly at Carina, as she backed slowly 
out of the room, murmuring “Graslich !” 

Some days later when Mr. Otis came home to 
dinner he brought with him a tall, fine-looking, 
middle-aged man, whom he introduced to the la- 
dies as Herr Stadtrath von Vogel, who had kindly 
consented, at the suggestion of a mutual friend, 
to help him with some special researches in con- 
nection with his book. The moment Carina’s 
eyes fell upon him she knew she had seen him be- 
fore; and a sudden mental picture showed her 
where. Then she had unconsciously noticed the 
riders in the Park somewhat, and this was un- 
doubtedly he of the offensive advertisement. 
Herr von Vogel flushed painfully when his eyes 
met hers during the introduction. Seeing the ex- 
pression of distrust and displeasure in her face, 
he moved uneasily in his chair and became more 
and more confused in his effort to carry on a co- 
herent conversation with Mr. Otis upon the sub- 
ject so dear to that gentleman’s heart. 

Carina, vexed as she was, rejected at once the 
suspicion that a man so well recommended had 
secured this position on false pretenses. Mr. 


S04 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Otis had said before that he was a well-known 
authority, but she had hard work to imagine a 
man of his age and culture resorting to so crude 
an expedient to make her acquaintance. It was 
a most uncomfortable hour, and Carina was glad 
after dinner to excuse herself and go to her room. 

Every day for a week the scholar came and 
was closeted for hours with Mr. Otis, but made 
no progress in his wooing of the fair, wrathful 
maid. Usually she avoided meeting him, if pos- 
sible. At other times his pleading eyes would 
have melted a heart of stone, if it had not be- 
longed to a woman utterly indifferent to their 
power. 

One evening, thinking she heard him go,, Ca- 
rina ran down to get a choice, borrowed book she 
remembered to have left in the arbor. Just as 
she started back with it a quick step sounded on 
the path, and Herr von Vogel was at her side. 

“Bitte, Eraulein DuCheyne, let me speak one 
little moment. You do not forgive. You are 
angry, and I pine every day because of it. I am 
quite sick that you will not once forgive. Take 
pity that I make a way to know you. Mr. Otis 
and my friend have — have known each other al- 
ready a long time. Mr. Otis, he knows that I am 
a right gentleman. Will you not believe.? I beg 
you.” He caught her hand in his eagerness, and 
before she could prevent him, kissed it again and 
again. 

“Please excuse me,” Carina said impatiently. 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


205 


and then added kindly, when she saw his real dis- 
tress, “It was simply a misunderstanding. We 
do not do such things in America among ladies 
and gentlemen. We will let it pass, if you wish. 
Good-night.” And she hurried into the house. 

Invitations from friends of Mr. Otis in the Uni- 
versity faculty began to come in, also from other 
old-time acquaintances in the city; and almost 
before they realized it, they were drawn into a 
round of dinner and theater parties, concerts, and 
entertainments of other sorts, and became quite 
gay. Carina tried, for her friends’ sake, to throw 
off the terrible depression which had settled upon 
her and enter into their pleasures, but she felt 
like an automaton. She tried to take up her 
studies with her former zest ; but, try as she 
would, she could not put heart into them. The 
spring of all her action seemed to have dried up. 
She often saw Mrs. Otis looking at her anxiously, 
and knew she wanted to express sympathy in some 
way; but now that it was all over and dead she 
could not bring herself to tell anyone that she 
had been betrayed again, her first pure, true love 
despised, although she was passing through the 
hardest hours she had yet endured, although 
faith in life and mankind almost failed her and 
there seemed no motive strong enough to impel 
her to keep up the fight for growth. It had been 
for him, always for Donald, and nothing had been 
too hard to bear, no difficulty too great to over- 
come, for him, her — no; not hers. 


206 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Wherever they went Herr von Vogel seemed to 
be “at home,” a welcome and honored guest; and 
when it was possible, without being intrusive, he 
hovered about Carina, always courteous and 
thoughtful, until, almost despite herself, she was 
impe-rceptibly drawn into a pleasant, friendly in- 
timacy, and found their tastes congenial and his 
personality more and more attractive. He re- 
vealed to her, hidden under a real modesty, depths 
of thought and graces of character which she had 
not dreamed he possessed. 

One evening late in the following spring quite a 
party went to a concert at the Gewandhaus. 
After the third number on the program had been 
played there was a long wait. The audience 
finally began to show audible signs of restlessness. 
Then the manager came upon the stage and said 
that the violin soloist of the evening had been 
taken suddenly ill. After great difficulty another 
artist had been secured, who had kindly consented 
to play the selection, and he felt sure the audi- 
ence would be lenient and excuse the substitution. 
The atmosphere of general dissatisfaction was 
very apparent and only a few hands were raised in 
feeble applause, when the door opened and a tall, 
thin, almost gaunt man entered, holding his vio- 
lin nervously clutched against his heart. 

Carina was deep in a discussion with Herr von 
Vogel over some peculiarities in the string quar- 
tette which had just been played, and did not 
at first notice the musician. Then a low cry 


LEIPZIG DAYS 207 

burst from her lips, and her face grew deathly 
white. 

Her companion turned quickly. “What is it, 
Fraulein.?^ You are sick, faint.? What can I do 
for you.?” 

With an almost superhuman effort Carina com- 
manded her senses. The room had grown dark, 
and her head rang with queer noises. Herr von 
VogePs voice sounded far away. A lady sitting 
near passed over her smelling salts, and in a min- 
ute or two more the little commotion died out and 
Carina, with parted lips and a heart beating al- 
most to suffocation, was watching every motion 
Donald — for it was he — made and every expres- 
sion of his speaking face. Had she tried to make 
herself believe she despised him, that all her love 
had turned to scorn.? How absurd! when she 
loved him with all her soul and should to the end 
of time, whatever he had done, even if he had — 
forgotten ! 

She kept carefully behind the lady immediately 
in front of her, sitting as low in the seat as pos- 
sible, so that he should not see her and be dis- 
turbed. 

She had no need to fear, for Donaldo Donaldi 
had not noticed the sea of faces. He had for- 
gotten all but the master, who possessed him, 
whose mouthpiece he must be, that he might speak 
to these waiting souls, bear them a true message 
now, now. A deep silence fell upon the restless 
audience. It was spellbound and for some sec- 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


SOS 

onds after the instrument became silent and the 
pale musician had slipped out of the room there 
was no sound; then a great roar burst from stu- 
dents in the top of the gallery, and spread down 
and down until the whole house rose, while 
“Hoch !” and “Bravo !” rang from all sides and 
handkerchiefs fluttered wildly as Donald ap- 
peared. Even the orchestra rose then and joined 
in the unusual demonstration. 

He stood there before them as though petrified 
by the ovation, not seeming to comprehend 
that he had anything to do with it. Then with a 
queer, timid nod he turned away. 

Carina had borne all she could. The strain, 
the hot air and the general commotion dulled her 
senses again ; and, for the second time in her life, 
she fainted quite away, and not until her friends 
got her into the carriage, where fresh air streamed 
in through the window, did she wholly come back 
to consciousness. 

“Where are we going.?” she asked confusedly. 
“Where is Donald.? I must go to him; I must. 
Oh, please go find Donald.” 

“What is it, dear child?” Mrs. Otis asked anx- 
iously. 

“Donald ; it was Donald, and I must see him,” 
Carina replied, sitting up and gathering her cloak 
about her. “Can we not drive back to the music 
hall? The violinist is — is a very dear friend of 
mine. I must see him and tell him he won this 
time — he won.” 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


209 


“Indeed, he did, dear. We will find him, and 
you shall tell him so,” Mrs. Otis replied, sooth- 
ingly. 

The order to return was quickly given,, and the 
carriage drove up to the side entrance by the 
dressing rooms. Carina started up to get out. 

“Wait, dear, Mr. Otis will find him, and bring 
him here. That will be better.” 

The house was still ringing with applause. As 
Mr. Otis pressed his way through the outer hall 
and tried to enter the room where the soloists 
were gathered with their friends, a man in even- 
ing dress almost knocked him down, as he rushed 
through the door exclaiming, “Where is the man.^ 
Has anyone seen the fool? I can’t find him. 
They won’t stop in there. Gott im Himmel ! was 
ist zu thun? I shall go crazy with the idiots!” 
and he rushed wildly out again, this time quite 
upsetting another artist, who glared after the 
perturbed manager, as he smoothed out his 
rumpled feathers and twirled his fierce mustache, 
while the adored scar on his cheek grew blue and 
hard. 

“Such a scandal over the fellow!” he muttered. 
Mr. Otis joined quietly in the vain search. At 
last the manager mopped his brow, arranged his 
hair, and with a bland, appropriate smile, went 
upon the stage and explained suavely that the 
great artist who had so wonderfully substituted 
for them as a special favor had modestly with- 
drawn, but that he took the greatest pleasure in 


210 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


announcing that he had luckily been persuaded 
to give a solo concert, where he would play for 
the first time in public some of his own composi- 
tions, which had astonished those of his contem- 
poraries who had enjoyed the honor of a private 
hearing. After which pleasant fiction the man- 
ager retired flushed and proud amid applause, to 
growl, scold, and swear all at once behind the 
stage. 

“What became of the idiot.? Didn’t he know 
he was made? Didn’t he know he could fill my 
house for me any time.? that I shall want him next 
week already.? Ach, ja; he will come back fast 
enough for his pay.” He stopped out of breath, 
and Mr. Otis saw his chance. 

“Can you give me the artist’s address.?” he 
asked. 

“Nein.” 

“May I leave my card and a message with you 
for Donaldo Donaldi, then.? An old friend 
wishes to see him at this address at his earliest 
convenience.” 

“Ja, ja! friends enough now, poor beggar that 
he was I” replied the manager. 

Carina sank back wearily in the carriage when 
Mr. Otis brought his disappointing message. 
The friends, seeing her agitation, forbore to ask 
questions, and talked together softly of the great 
treat the evening had been, all the while turning 
over in their minds the singular event in its effect 
upon the girl who seemed so deeply interested in 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


211 


the strange artist. She was certainly a surpris- 
ing personality, with her potentialities for mys- 
terious history, her straightforward, simple story, 
and her interesting connections ! What had not 
the girl experienced in her short life! and what 
might one not expect for her in the future 1 

The next evening, Herr von Vogel called and 
asked if he might see Carina alone. She had 
been bracing herself all day for the explanation 
she felt she must now make to her dear kind 
friends, and knew at once what this significant 
request from the “Stadtrath” must mean. At 
first she resolved to ask to be excused from re- 
ceiving her caller ; but then some instinct told 
her this thing could not be put off much longer, 
and she nerved herself for the trying ordeal. He 
would certainly ask questions, and she should have 
to answer them sometime. A sharp pain struck 
her heart. Why was it that she must always cut 
people off from her life just when they had really 
gotten into it? Why could he not be satisfied to 
be her dear, pleasant friend, go on being it to the 
end.? Futile questions, wrung from many a 
woman’s heart which longs to keep what has been 
so precious, but may not, because an impossible 
element which cannot be adjusted to social condi- 
tions has entered in and spoiled all the harmony, 
like a chord sounded outside of pure melody. 
Herr von Vogel began without any preamble: “I 
must talk with you, my dear friend, out of my 
full-up heart. It will not contain any more, but 


212 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


overflows already.” He came toward Carina 
with outstretched hands. “I could not bear it 
that you had pain last evening. I hafe not slept 
once all that night. That man! Has he done 
things to you.?* Do you hate him.? fear him, per- 
haps .?Ja.? I will keel him. I am one good fight- 
ing-man, and I can keel him for you if you wish. 
Ja.?” 

Carina had to smile a little at his belligerent 
attitude. “Oh, no 1 he is not my enemy, but — my 
dearest friend, the very dearest I have in the 
world. I knew he was over here studying some- 
where, but I had only seen and heard him once 
in long years, and was — ” 

She stopped short, and caught her breath pain- 
fully. What could she tell this man, almost a 
stranger in a way, of her heart-life and of the ter- 
rible sorrow which had left her unable to respond 
to him.? And yet he must have some explanation. 

“Ja, ja.?” he urged eagerly. 

“I did not know he was here, and so it was a 
great surprise to me.” 

“American ladies do they always be faint when 
they are very much surprised — or pleased.? 
Yes.?” 

“No”; Carina answered, “not always, but — ” 

“Perhaps then you lofe him, yes? Say 
you do not. It must be me you lofe. I can- 
not permit you to lofe other bodies ; only me, 
yes .?” 

In his eagerness, he got down on his knees, and 


LEIPZIG DAYS 


213 


took her cold hands, pressing them to his heart 
and lips. ‘‘Ach ! do not say it is this one that 
you lofe. He lofes his instrument, his museek. 
He is — what you call — satisfied with them; but I, 
I have only you. Mein Gott ! no, he cannot hafe 
you.” 

Carina tried to make him rise, to stem the tor- 
rent of words which poured out so rapidly and 
hopefully. ‘‘Dear friend,” she said, when at last 
he gave her a chance, “I hoped you would see that 
I love him, that you might be saved this humilia- 
tion. I have loved him for five years, and I can 
never in my life love anyone else in the way you 
mean. I would have spared you this.” She 
covered her face with her hands. 

For a moment the room was perfectly still; 
then the man laid his head upon her lap and she 
let her hand stroke his soft hair, where a few 
grey threads already showed. “I appreciate the 
love of your manhood more than words can ex- 
press. Let me keep your friendship. It has been 
very sweet and pleasant to me. Life has brought 
me few such treasures, and I cannot bear to give 
this one up.” Her voice trembled. Without 
raising his head, he caught her hand and laid his 
lips on it. ^^May I keep it, dear friend.?” she 
asked softly. 

Herr von Vogel was silent a little longer. His 
great frame trembled. Then he looked up into 
her face as though he were giving up the dearest 
thing his life had known. Putting her hand to his 


214 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


lips again, he said quietly, ‘‘I will try if it will be 
possible to be — your — friend.” 

He sprang to his feet, and drawing bis tall, 
military figure to its full height, as though try- 
ing to stiffen his will through his muscles, caught 
his breath sharply. “Ach Gott ! I would have 
lofed you so ! I hafe never known a woman like 
you before. I am a better man. Gute Nacht.” 
And he was gone. 

No word, no sign after that betrayed the man’s 
heart. Simply and manfully he kept his word. 
Only Carina noticed how rapidly his hair grew 
white. 


CHAPTER XVI 


A LETTER 

The days passed very slowly to Carina. No 
Donald appeared. The papers were most en- 
thusiastic in commendation of his “masterly in- 
terpretation.” His genius was “remarkable.” 
Wonderful histories were concocted for him out 
of whole cloth. There were rumors afloat of great 
compositions he was working on at present, of 
earlier achievements which, to be sure, had not 
conquered the general unenlightened public, but 
had attracted the attention of the musical fra- 
ternity to him. “Memories” were dug up about 
his romantic personality and enlarged to colossal 
proportions ; how he had electrified all Europe, 
some two years before, and then disappeared from 
view, absolutely, as though the ground had swal- 
lowed him, and no one could discover his where- 
abouts. Now he had come forth from his retire- 
ment, to “dazzle the world.” 

All the machinery by which artists are “made” 
and the pockets of far-sighted, keen-headed man- 
agers filled, was set into whirring, buzzing, roar- 
ing motion, of which the powerful vibrations 
reached again to his native shores. Even now 
no one seemed actually to know where Donald 
215 


216 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


was in hiding, or when he would let his light 
shine again above the horizon. Several man- 
agers, friends of Mr. Otis, wrote him from 
America, asking if half the reports were true. 

Carina tried to fill her days perfectly full, to 
crowd down and out the hope which had risen in 
her heart despite her best efforts since seeing Don- 
ald again. Each time the door was opened she 
looked up, hoping to see his face. She searched 
the papers in vain for news of him; but, for some 
reason no one could comprehend, he was evidently 
not willing to take his place in the world of 
artists ; and Carina, unable to learn anything 
about him or his life, could only fret her heart 
sore with fears and doubts, and all the anguish of 
uncertain love. Pride would not come to her res- 
cue. She could only love him, love him, love him, 
until she was almost frenzied with pain and long- 
ing. 

“O mother, mother mine!” she cried out in 
anguish. ^^Who are you.^ Where are you.^ 
Can you see me and feel how terribly I need you.^ 
If you are up there, wait for me, your child. 
Whatever it may cost, I will come to you some 
day; but oh, I need you so now! I am so un- 
utterably lonely 1” 

She tried to hide her sorrow from those who 
were doing all in their power to befriend her. 
She could not bring herself to tell of her slighted 
love, of the passion she ought in self-respect to 
be crushing out of her heart; it would be too 


A LETTER 


m 


humiliating. She must bear it alone until she 
could conquer it again, and go on her way calmly. 

It was most of all the lack of incentive which 
made the battle so hard. Her whole life had cen- 
tered itself about this one point. She dared not 
turn back, and yet could not seem to make her- 
self want to go forward toward some new goal. 

Two weeks after the concert Mr. Otis found in 
the American mail another letter from the friend 
to whom he had written about the celebrated 
actor. It was very bulky. He opened it with a 
hand which was not quite steady. An enclosed 
letter fell upon the floor. He picked it up ab- 
sently, and laid it upon the table. There were 
only a few lines from the friend. He read them 
aloud to his wife, who was sitting near. They 
ran as follows : “Yesterday this letter reached me 
at the club, following a telegram from our actor 
friend in which he asked if I knew your present 
address and whether a Miss Carina DuCheyne, 
who had once served you as “May Wilson,” were 
still with you. I suppose the thing is all square. 
At any rate, I have done my part in the matter 
and hope it means no trouble for you. I cannot 
imagine why he did not send it direct, instead of 
forwarding it to me.” 

Carina was not in the room when the letter 
came. Mrs. Otis had taken it from the table, 
and was handling it nervously, her lips drawn 
tightly together, perhaps to keep them from 
trembling. Something they had longed for, and 


S18 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


yet secretly dreaded, was evidently about to hap- 
pen, and neither was quite ready for it, after all. 
At last her husband, in a strained, unnatural 
voice, broke the silence. 

‘‘Listen, Elizabeth.” Then he read the short, 
pregnant letter aloud. 

Each looked at the other in a stunned way, 
neither daring to speak first. Presently Mrs. 
Otis laid the sealed letter down upon the 
table and looked at it with aversion, while she 
involuntarily wiped her hand with her handker- 
chief. 

“I am afraid of it, Henry. I don’t like the 
looks of it. The child has had trouble enough. 
I know it only means trouble.” She looked plead- 
ingly at her husband, as though hoping he would 
find some way out of the situation, he, who had 
never yet failed her. 

“Dear, it is Carina’s letter. You and I are 
only messengers to deliver it to her, nothing more. 
Perhaps it does not mean trouble, but some great 
joy greater than any she has yet known. Then 
you and I must be the first to rejoice with her; 
must we not ^ Or to help her bear something else, 
perhaps — ” He stopped, as a new thought 
flashed into his mind, and looked at his wife in a 
startled way. She nodded her head silently. 
How loudly the clock ticked ! How still the street 
was ! How oppressively hot the room had grown ! 
Mrs. Otis went slowly to the window and opened 
it. The air outside was heavy and the sky had 


A LETTER 219 

clouded over; all life seemed to have suddenly 
stopped. 

She turned back to her husband, and, putting 
her arm tenderly about his neck, kissed him. 
Then she said, “I will take it to her, Henry,” and 
left the room, shutting the door softly behind her. 

They had been such lonely people before the 
girl came into their lives, with her beauty, her 
needs, her ambitions, and her great talent, this 
husband and wife, so lonely, despite their great 
love for each other; for no little child had come 
to lead them, and now — The man’s head sank 
lower and lower, as though he would hide even 
from himself that he was a coward before this 
perhaps.” 

Mrs. Otis knocked at Carina’s door and handed 
her the letter, without a word; then went on to 
her own room to wait, that hardest thing a woman 
ever has to do in great crises of life. Carina 
laughed as she took the clumsy letter from her 
friend. “Dear me ! it is surely an advertisement,” 
she said gaily. “I don’t know anyone in the 
world who would have so much to say, all at 
once, to me. Wait, and help me guess whether 
it is “cloaks, hats, or gowns.” She looked up, 
but Mrs. Otis had gone. 

Carina returned to her seat at the window and 
slowly opened the letter, after puzzling a while 
in a very feminine way, over the unfamiliar hand- 
writing. 

“My Dear Carina: — You will wonder who is 


220 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


addressing you in this familiar way — ” Carina be- 
gan to turn the letter over, so that this question 
could be quickly settled; then she whimsically be- 
gan again at the beginning, saying aloud, “No, 
I will not do that, either; it would be like reading 
the last chapter of a story first. I will make the 
person explain.” Then she continued reading, — 
“and be even more surprised, when I tell you 
it is your own uncle, Paul DuCheyne, not known 
to you at all but to the world as ‘Paul Lawrence, 
the English actor.’ 

“It is a strange story I have to tell you, and 
in some respects a shameful one ; and I am not at 
all sure how you will receive it. But I feel com- 
pelled to tell you the facts and leave the issue of 
the matter to your kindness of heart or to your 
calm judgment.” 

Carina sat bolt upright in her chair now, her 
hands like ice, while bright red spots flamed out 
upon her cheeks. Could she face the knowing, 
after all.? She smoothed out the page she had 
been clutching nervously in her hand and pored 
over the words again. They were often blurred 
and indistinct, as though the writer had been un- 
der great tension. 

“My brother and I, twins, were born in old 
St. Louis about forty-eight years ago. Our par- 
ents had French, Spanish, and English blood in 
their veins, and from someone — we never knew 
whom — we inherited fiery tempers, high spirits, 
rather devilish I am afraid, and a general make- 


A LETTER 


221 


up which gave our parents a great deal of 
trouble and anxiety. At last their patience was 
exhausted and we were put into a very strict mili- 
tary school, where we developed into even greater 
‘terrors,’ it is said; that is, in so far as boys 
could, under most rigid rules and constant espi- 
onage. 

“Maurice, who grew more wild and unmanage- 
able every day, was at last expelled in disgrace. 
Our parents were abroad at the time, and I never 
knew where he went. I remained in school a little 
longer, but already had just one ruling passion, 
the stage, and, at the first good opportunity, ran 
away and joined a poor company of actors who 
had given several plays in a small hall near the 
school and to hear whom I risked my life, really, 
and lost the last shred of my reputation. It cost 
me so much effort to get out that night, I thought 
it on the whole not worth while trying to return. 
My perfectly healthy physique and fine memory, 
together with great ability to imitate, made it 
possible for me to pass, in such crowds as we 
drew together, as an acceptable actor. 

“There were many days and nights when I cried 
myself to sleep, faint and dispirited with hunger; 
but the fact that I had been obliged in the school 
to be disciplined on bread and water a great many 
times made me able to get on and grow with very 
short rations. 

“In the company there was one man who had 
great ability and a fine schooling which he had 


2^2 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


received in England. He soon saw that I really 
wanted to become an artist and was willing to 
pay the price. For some reason or other he took 
a great fancy to me, and constituted himself my 
master and instructor. A most severe, painstak- 
ing, uncompromising trainer he was, too, when he 
was sober ; which was, alas ! none too often. I feel 
that I owe the success of my after life to this poor 
old soak, who had never been able to do anything 
adequate for himself, because of his fatal weak- 
ness. 

“Strange to say, he made me sign a pledge never 
to touch liquor of any sort, and I have kept it all 
these years, partly out of love and pity for the 
poor old fellow. He froze to death one night, 
while I was off barnstorming with a company that 
would not be bothered with him, poor old pal ! 

“I don’t know why I am writing you all these 
details, except that one thing suggests another 
and I want you to know what circumstances went 
to form us ; perhaps so that your heart will soften 
just a little, when you know all. 

“Maurice wandered around for years. At last I 
found him in San Francisco, almost a wreck physi- 
cally and mentally from drink and general dis- 
sipation. He was pitifully glad to see me. The 
restless love of roaming and innate hatred of all 
restraint had taken him from pillar to post. The 
very idea that he must do anything seemed to 
arouse all the bad blood in him; and so, though 
great physical beauty, a winning smile, and per- 


A LETTER 


sonal magnetism few could resist brought him 
hosts of friends, opportunities, and positions of 
all sorts, he could not keep them, but, after a 
few weeks or months, would be off again, no one 
knew where. 

“He had many loves in many places, but at last 
met a demure little maid in Maine with whom he 
fell seriously in love, as she did with him. I am 
glad to be able to say he married her, and for two 
years or so, seemed like a changed man. His love 
for this tiny, mouse-like creature, who had little 
beauty and less wit, was wonderful and inexpli- 
cable, but beautiful to see. 

“Our parents had both died, the home had been 
sold, and alas ! the money all spent. I had mar- 
ried, too, and whenever my wife and I were in New 
York City, where Maurice had settled after his 
marriage, we stayed with them in their simple 
little home and called it ours, too. We were all 
very poor, and it was the plainest sort of a place, 
‘impossible’ we should call it now, I suppose, but 
we were very happy together. It was the only 
‘home’ we had ever had since our boyhood days, 
and we were very proud of it. Maurice was 
fairly steady in his habits and kept at work. 
Both wives expected soon to become mothers. I 
had a fair engagement in an old, reliable stock 
company, and life seemed bright with promise 
for us who had wandered about the old earth so 
long. Every week the girls added some new bit 
of brightness to the house-furnishings, and seemed 


224 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


never tired of polishing and beautifying their 
nest. We had a little housemaid, a queer crea- 
ture, who came from Maine with my brother’s 
wife, and loved her with a devotion which was 
almost a mania. I don’t think she was very 
‘sound in the upper regions,’ but she was utterly 
faithful to her common, daily duties, and took 
care of Maria as though she were made of glass. 

“One night about half-past eleven — I had just 
come in and we were having a little lunch — the 
outside door opened with a crash and my brother 
fell headlong into the room, beastly drunk and 
wild. His collar was off, his coat torn and 
stained, his eyes rolling as though he were crazy. 
‘I killed him,’ he yelled; ‘I tell you I killed him. 
Save me! Can’t you save me?’ He dragged 
himself over to his wife’s feet and pulled her dress 
over his bloated, bleeding face. She, poor child, 
was almost fainting with terror. I dashed a 
bucket of water into his face to sober him. It 
was so effective that I got at the dreadful fact 
that he was not in delirium tremens, but had 
actually killed a man in his cups, partly, it ap- 
peared, in self-defence. 

“I bundled him up as best I could, but he got 
away from me and raved and raged about the 
room until the two women crouched horrified in 
the corner, too weak and unstrung even to cry 
aloud. At last I got a firm grip on him and suc- 
ceeded in hushing him up and getting him out of 
the back door. The police were on his track, or 


A LETTER 


225 


would soon be, and he would have to fly, if he 
saved his life. Unless we could somehow evade 
them, he was surely doomed. I won’t weary you 
with more details of the dreary experience. I had 
to leave the women, and after endless hardship 
and suffering, I succeeded in getting him upon a 
vessel sailing for Northern Canada. 

“We found long afterward that the man did not 
die after all; but then all efforts to find my 
brother again were unavailing. That night, Ca- 
rina, after we left, you were born into the world. 
The poor little mother could not seem to rally, 
and for days her life hung in the balance. The 
next week my own baby came, and for a while 
hard, sad days were upon us; the joy and peace 
of the little home were all gone. The babies were 
tiny creatures, the mothers too sick to see them, 
let alone take any care. I had a good, strong 
woman in the kitchen, and Sara did her best in the 
other situations. When my baby was three days 
old she died, and within a week my wife died, 
too. 

“I was beside myself with grief. I believe no 
man ever loved a woman as I did her. She was 
all the world to me, love, religion, God, every- 
thing. I cared for nothing else, not even my art, 
with her gone. I cannot write of it. I cursed 
my brother, who, I felt, was the cause of all the 
black woe which had settled upon me. 

“Bitter and cruel feelings grew until it seemed 
to me I could bear it all no longer and keep my 


226 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


reason. I determined to go away. God forgive 
me ! The familiar surroundings had grown hate- 
ful to me. I threw up my engagement and went 
away, telling Sara I would send her all the money 
I could make and getting her to promise most 
solemnly to take the best possible care of my — 
your mother and you. I make no excuse for my 
selfish, cowardly conduct. It was beneath criti- 
cism. I only tell you what a sneak I became in 
my awful sorrow. Yes, I deliberately went away 
and left you, and your frail mother in the care 
of a half-witted servant. Don’t try to forgive 
me ; I do not ask it. 

“I succeeded in getting a good engagement in 
Portland, but after three or four weeks the maid 
wrote me that your mother was dead. I could 
not get away or afford the journey, either; so 
I wrote to Sara to get a good home for herself 
and you, and, when I could, I would come and 
arrange matters definitely. God knows, I meant 
to do it ; but my heart grew harder and harder 
under my terrible loneliness, and my bitterness in- 
cluded even the helpless baby that had lived, while 
my own had died. Whenever I went East, I went 
to see you; but the awful memories you brought 
to me made me finally hate the very sight of you, 
and at last I stopped going. You seemed well 
and fairly happy, so far as I knew anything about 
children, with Mrs. Dole. Sara had gone out to 
service again, and I never saw her. Mrs. Dole 
was a distant relative of hers, and had urged her 


A LETTER 


m 

to give the child into her care. I sent cheeks 
for your expenses, making them larger and larger, 
as you grew and I prospered. Thank God! at 
least in caring for your material needs I was 
always faithful.” 

Carina stopped reading and went back in 
memory to the time when the pretty clothes and 
spending money had ceased to be furnished her 
and the hard, unending drudgery had begun. 
Now she understood that Mrs. Dole had stolen 
the money, and that she had not been left quite 
so utterly as she had thought. Tears rolled down 
her cheeks as she felt for the first time a little 
softening toward the circumstances of her child- 
hood and the bitterness that had rolled over her 
soul again as she read of the poor, sick little 
mother, forsaken in her need, gave way to a feel- 
ing of sympathy for the sorrow-stricken man, 
bereft of wife, child, brother, and home, all 
in one terrible blow. Perhaps he was unable to 
give her love. Still the money was so small a part 
of what he owed her, and the loss to her had been 
so dreadful! She hid her hot face in her hands. 
How could she forgive? 

Picking up the letter at last, she read on, and 
on to the end. 

“A fine offer was made me to go to England 
with a company, and, selfishly glad to get entirely 
away from the land of my sorrow, with no 
thought for the worse than fatherless child other 
than some regard for her material needs, I went. 


228 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


‘‘When I returned fifteen years later, I could 
find no trace of you or of Mrs. Dole. She had 
moved away from the old house six or eight 
months before I reached New York, the occupant 
at the time told me, but never failed to call each 
month for her foreign letter, refusing to give her 
present address, on the score that she was work- 
ing in various places. The woman also said she 
had never heard her mention a girl as being in her 
care. 

“I was dumbfounded at the situation and began 
to scent fraud, but I imagined I should have no 
trouble in catching her, when she came for her 
next check. I made arrangements with the po- 
lice, but she failed to appear, and sent no message. 
Probably she first took flight, when the advance 
notice of my proposed return to America was an- 
nounced in the papers, and no efforts of the po- 
lice could trace her or Sara, the half-witted maid 
of our little home. I could only remember the 
child faintly as an ugly, self-conscious little thing, 
always ready to cry. I decided you were prob- 
ably long since dead, but advertised for Carina 
DuCheyne, and had no response. I fear you did 
not read the papers faithfully. Some weeks later 
at Mr. Otis’s I saw the rather striking resem- 
blance of his waiting maid to my brother as he 
looked in his youth, and was almost upset by it 
for the moment. I could hardly keep my eyes 
from you, although all the time I argued that it 
was absurd to suspect any relationship. I ques- 


A LETTER 


229 


tioned another guest later, and, when he said, 
‘Yes; May Wilson is a treasure of a maid,’ I 
dropped the matter, as having been a singular 
coincidence, and thought no more about it. 
Again I do not ask you to forgive me. I am at 
least not so mean but that, selfish and bitter, cold 
and indifferent to the sorrows of others as I have 
been, I know how contemptibly I have acted, and 
just what I deserve for it. 

“All these years I had found no trace of my 
brother. Whether he remained in Canada or not, 
no one seemed to know. I suppose he assumed 
a name at once and probably disguised himself 
more or less. Sometimes I about decided he, too, 
had died, perhaps gone back to drink in despair. 
We certainly had made a ‘mess of life,’ he and I. 
The only earthly comfort I had was my art, and 
that left vacant spaces around, above, underneath, 
and in the crevices of my life, where deathly lone- 
liness could creep in, until I was sick at heart and 
ready to give up the struggle. 

“But enough of me ; far too much ! Last 
month a friend invited me to his shooting lodge 
in the lake regions of Maine for a rest and a bit 
of hunting, and I discovered in the guide whom 
my host hired to take me out my brother. It 
was only by the merest chance I found out who 
he was ; for he bore no resemblance to the splen- 
did, fair-haired giant I had helped onto a sailing 
vessel that terrible night so long ago. 

“Now he has been mortally injured, shot by 


S30 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


accident. He was slowly dying of consumption 
when I found him, but would not admit it. He 
had gone into the highlands too late, but was mak- 
ing a plucky fight for life, when this new trouble 
came upon him, blood poisoning, probably. At 
any rate, he is much worse. I could not tell 
whether he was glad to see me or not. He did 
not show emotion of any sort when we met. 
I could not get him to tell of his life during the 
long years. He seemed to know his wife was dead, 
but thought the child was, too. He was appar- 
ently indifferent to the news that the man had not 
died, and his skirts were clear of murder. All he 
said was, ‘Too late for that to do me any good.’ 

“I will not try to tell you of the terrible scene 
between us when I told him about his wife and my 
guilt toward ' her and you. There were awful 
words spoken. He had a perfect right to use 
them, I suppose. At last when his passion had 
died out, he said feebly, ‘After all, old fellow, I 
don’t suppose there is much choice between our 
sins. It’s a pretty black list; we won’t add to 
them. Give us a shake.’ 

“I am trying to do what I can for him in 
the time that is left. It may be a matter of 
months or only of weeks ; I cannot tell. Yester- 
day he said, ‘Paul, do you suppose I could find 
my child If only she would come to me, it 
would not be for long. My baby, her baby !’ It 
was the first time he had ever spoken in such a 
tone. I told him of my efforts to find some clue 


A LETTER 


231 


to you. He would not let the matter rest, but 
every little while would break out again, ‘My 
baby !’ He would not hear to my idea that you 
had probably died long ago. I had to tell him 
over and over just how you looked the last time 
I saw you, and then he would ask again so plain- 
tively, if there were nothing more to do. At last, 
like a flash from heaven, a scene came to me: Mrs. 
Otis at the head of her table, a wonderful pair of 
eyes behind her, looking into my very soul in an 
eager, confused, questioning way. I looked down 
again into my brother’s. There was just such 
an eager questioning in them that went through 
and through me. Selfish, selfish fool that I had 
been, to be so easily put off then, so weakly satis- 
fied that you were nothing to me! There was at 
least a chance, and I would move heaven and 
earth, if need be, to get hold of it ! I rushed out 
to the hotel, and kept the wires hot until I found 
an old friend of mine, a member of the Manhat- 
tan Club who kept somewhat in touch with Mr. 
Otis, and learned, to my inexpressible joy, that 
Mr. and Mrs. Otis still had the fair-haired girl 
with them, now as beloved friend and com- 
panion. God in heaven! ‘Carina DuCheyne.’ I 
thought I had known some blessed moments in 
life, sad as it had been in the main; but, child, 
there had been none quite like that, when this 
message flashed back to me. 

“And now, what is your answer.'^ Would any- 
thing, the dying wish of your father, starved for 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


SS2 

the love of his own, bring you to him? I feel so 
unworthy to ask the question. It is for his sake, 
my poor unfortunate brother, your father, dear, 
your own father. What if life has ‘cheated him,’ 
or he alone has been to blame for the awful 
muddle? Your mother loved him despite all, even 
to the end. There are women like that in the 
world. I beg and implore you to forgive him. 
Don’t decide against him. I will go away, if you 
wish ; but, for the love of Christ, be merciful and 
forgive. God in heaven help you ! I have told 
you all just as it is.” Then followed explicit 
directions, if she were to cable. 

Carina read the letter over and over, and then 
once again. She could not make it seem really 
true that she “belonged” to these men, was of 
their flesh and blood ; that she had found her 
father, her uncle, at last. She pictured the little 
“mouse-like” mother dying alone, with only a 
half-witted girl near in her supreme hour of trial, 
forlorn, forsaken, while her father was flying to 
save his life, a life ruined by dissipation and lack 
of self-control; her uncle, crazed with grief, giv- 
ing way to selfish despair, leaving her mother 
doubly alone and at last leaving herself to be 
robbed of all that life owes a child and basely 
sold. Had either of these men really cared what 
became of her in her dire need? Could her own 
father not have found her somehow, if he had 
really tried, murderer and outcast though he be- 
lieved himself to be? 


A LETTER 


233 


All the old bitterness, added to new horror, 
surged over her. It would mean leaving the dear 
friends who had cared for her ; who had been 
large-minded and brave enough to forgive and 
love her. It would mean giving up her chances 
for study and travel. She had won her place in 
life honorably; she had atoned in so far as she 
could for the sins of her youth and ignorance, 
she had, single-handed and alone, won back her 
“soul.” What real right had these strangers to 
her now.^ What possible place was there for 
them in her life.^ 

Everything in her cried out against them and 
their plea of relationship. Now, forsooth, they 
needed her, and so found it possible and conven- 
ient to hunt her up ! but she no longer needed 
them or their tardy love. 

Hour after hour went by, while she fought her 
battle. “Poor, forsaken little mother !” she cried 
again and again, forgetting for the time her own 
wrongs. “What had she done, that life should 
treat her so.?^ Why did she need the fire of ad- 
versity, the pommeling of misfortune, that dainty, 
frail, sinless little mother. Why did she have to 
stand alone, while billows rolled higher and 
higher, until she was engulfed, carried away from 
the child that needed her so pitifully?” Vain, 
useless, unanswerable questions these, that beat 
and beat in the stupefied brain, until reason 
almost gave way under the strain and the sense 
of utter helplessness before their insistence! 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


^34 

At last, growing a little calmer, the thought of 
justice for th^ first time made itself heard. 
What was she doing? Setting herself up as 
judge over these human souls? She shrank into 
her chair and faced the new idea, while her heart 
grew faint and her hands cold. She grew more 
and more restless, too, under the probing of her 
own enlarged, clarified conscience, and her sense 
of right values. Suppose her father had sinned 
so grievously? Who was she to condemn him? 
And the uncle, great, renowned, the whole cul- 
tured world at his feet, how had he humiliated 
himself before her, confessing his weakness, not 
even asking her to forgive him, only pleading 
for her dying father’s sake ! 

How many times she had pictured to herself 
her parents, and a possible reunion with them! 
that, perhaps, something quite beyond their con- 
trol had separated them from her ; and that 
they even yet mourned for her every day! It 
might have been as great and terrible a sorrow 
for them as for her. How different this sordid 
reality! No; she had been deliberately, abso- 
lutely, unfeelingly forsaken. There was really no 
mitigating the facts. She had been hated, de- 
nied, even in the face of apparent proof, had any- 
one cared to prove her identity. Just one ques- 
tion put to her would have been enough. 

She picked up the letter, which had fallen to 
the floor, and read the last few pages again. 
‘‘My baby, her baby! Do you suppose anything 


A LETTER 


235 


would make her come?” She sat staring at the 
words until her eyes could no longer trace them ; 
then another voice sounded in her ears. It was 
Janet’s again. ‘‘Neither do I condemn thee; 
go, and sin no more.” A low groan burst from 
her dry lips. “Then who am I to condemn 
them?” she whispered in agony. 

What had Janet said one other time, reading 
to them in a quiet evening hour, while Donald sat 
there, his face shining with pure white thought. 
“Don’t you think the significance of prayer is the 
heart’s necessity?” Then she had read to them 
from that other book — “Father forgive them — ” 
For the first time in her life Carina sank on her 
knees and prayed for strength to love like that. 

An hour later she went downstairs and, with- 
out a word, handed the letter to Mr. Otis. 

“Shall we read it?” he asked gently. 

She bowed her head. 

When he had ended, there was deep silence for 
a time. Mrs. Otis had covered her face with her 
hands, and was sobbing. 

“Well?” he asked at last when he could master 
his voice, “What have you decided to do?” 

“To go to him,” Carina replied, her face illu- 
mined with a great light. Mr. Otis went over and 
took her hand in his for a moment ; then turned 
quickly and walked out of the room without a 
word. 


CHAPTER XVII 


MY FATHER 

A week later Carina was once more looking 
down from the deck of an ocean liner which was 
being slowly warped into her dock at Hoboken. 
Long before this was successfully accomplished 
she had found her uncle’s strikingly distinguished 
figure in the crowd of waiting people. She had 
an opportunity to study his face once more as 
he worked his way toward the vessel, people stand- 
ing aside, as they always do for an imposing per- 
sonality, through some innate sense of fitness or 
an unconscious reverence for power sometimes 
purely physical. She had no difficulty in remem- 
bering features which had been imprinted upon 
her young heart as though burned with a red-hot 
iron. Once she had thrown the photograph she 
had bought after he left the city into the grate 
in anger, because she was coming to love to talk 
to it, tell it all her hopes and ambitions, even her 
heart’s secret. And now the man himself stood 
before her again, waiting for her! 

His hair had grown strangely white since then. 
There was a sad, timid look in his strained eyes, 
as though some new part he was called upon to 
play were not yet fixed in his mind, and he were 
236 


MY FATHER 


237 

groping for its proper expression. He raised 
his head suddenly and began to scan the faces of 
those who by this time were hurrying down the 
gangway, eager to greet loved ones once more. 

At last, seeming to grow impatient of delay, he 
sprang up the plank, people standing aside for 
him again, when they looked into his pale, set 
face. Some, who recognized the great actor, 
whispered his name and looked curiously after 
him. In the cabin door he came face to face 
with Carina, who had gone below for a moment 
to make sure her things had all been packed, and 
gain time to get a little more courage for the 
dreaded meeting. 

He apparently recognized her at once. The 
pallor in his face gave way to a deep flush. 
Neither could speak at first, but he took her 
hands in his and looked silently into her beautiful 
eyes, with a pleading in his own that she could not 
withstand. All her resolution to be cold and for- 
mal melted away; something in him took hold 
upon her inmost nature and drew her to him as 
by a million tiny chords. In another moment she 
was folded against his heart, everything forgotten 
but the sense of “belonging,” the feeling of close, 
warm kinship, despite sin, selfishness, and injus- 
tice. 

“Uncle !” she stammered at last. 

“My child; my dear child,” he whispered, “am 
I forgiven.?” 

“O uncle,” she cried, throwing her arms 


238 LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 

around his neck, ‘‘my father ! Tell me, is he still 
alive ?” 

“Still alive, dear, and waiting eagerly for your 
coming. We are two very lonely men, child. 
You cannot know what this means to us, at last 
to have someone of our very own to — to love,” he 
added brokenly. “We did not know until lately 
what we had missed, not until — until we had 
almost sinned away our chance ; but you will for- 
give.? Let me look into your eyes again. Are 
you sure you can.?” 

“O uncle! can you ask me.?” 

“It is asking more, I fear, than mortal can 
give,” he said half timidly. “I — I — ” the words 
would not come to utterance, and Carina could 
feel his hands tremble on her shoulders. 

“I am so very hungry myself, so starved for — 
my own,” she said softly. 

It seemed as though they could never let each 
other go ; but the boy who had been standing out- 
side the door coughed impatiently, and Carina, 
raising her face, wet with happy tears, looked into 
the soft, glad eyes above her and smiled. “I sup- 
pose we must go.” 

“Yes,” he answered, as though waking from a 
dream ; “yes, of course we must.” 

Carina drew her veil close and soon they were 
seated in the carriage on their way to the station. 

Few words were spoken between them, the uncle 
only asking if she would go at once to her father 
or to some hotel in the city. 


MY FATHER 2S9 

‘‘To him, oh, to him, as soon as possible! It 
might be too — too late,” she shuddered. 

“No, I think not. He has improved wonder- 
fully. Ever since he read your cablegram he has 
seemed like a new man. The excitement has prob- 
ably done him good. To think that you are really 
here! Somehow, I could not believe in it all un- 
til I looked into your face.” He took her hand 
and held it close, as though afraid she might van- 
ish from his sight; or as though he should never 
let it go again, now that he had the right to 
lead her into a home, to guide and protect her 
life. 

All the days she had been coming to them he 
had spent in finding things that might minister to 
her comfort in the bare, secluded wood-lodge, spar- 
ing neither time nor money in gathering the best. 
He knew she had been accustomed of late to lux- 
ury, and she must not feel too great a change in 
going to the lonely, new surroundings which all 
their love could not make bright under the over- 
hanging cloud of death. 

Carina looked into the sad, wistful face again 
and again in a sort of wonder that there should 
seem to be no need of words between them, no 
sense of strangeness in the situation; that all the 
bitterness had gone, leaving only a feeling that 
she had been born again; that life had just begun 
for her. That it made no possible difference 
what had gone before, whence she came, or even 
in what path she was to tread in the future. She 


MO 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


opened her lips once with a quick, inrushing 
breath, then closed them. 

The man beside her roused himself at the sound 
and looked down at her with eyes which seemed 
to see far, far beyond her. He waited a moment, 
and then spoke in a voice deep with repressed 
emotion! “What is it, Carina. Carina; that 
was our mother’s name.” 

“I was only thinking,” she stammered con- 
fusedly, “that we must always have known each 
other.” 

“That is; the kinship between us awakening into 
life,” he answered, smiling at her embarrassment. 
“The sense of belonging did not have to be born 
and grow through months and years ; it was 
there in us. Only I — ” he stopped abruptly and 
took her face between his hands, looking intently 
into her eyes once more a moment, silently, then, 
leaning back in the carriage again, he closed his 
own as if in utter weariness. 

The girl feasted her eyes on his strength and 
beauty. She had never seen a man so nearly her 
ideal of what might be combined in one person. 
And he was her own kith and kin! Joy and 
pride surged through her hungry heart. What 
must her father be like! Did he in any way re- 
semble the splendid, well-preserved man beside 
her.?^ Her father! Then she rememberd the 
uncle had said he had hardly recognized the worn, 
changed man. She must not expect him to be 
like this ; but he would be her own father at last. 


MY FATHER 


mi 


and she should love him. Oh, how she should love 
him, to make up for all the lost years, to fill the 
few — her uncle had said “months,” it might be 
“weeks.” They would fight for his life together. 
She would infuse into him her own abundant vi- 
tality. Perhaps it was not “too late,” after all. 

Existence seemed all at once to have regained 
the old charm it had in large part lost for her 
since Donald had — she caught her breath sharply 
— had — forsaken her. It was a harsh, unlovely 
word. She hardly used it — even in solitude. 

She was trying so hard these days to think 
Donald had chosen much better for himself. She 
kept the vision of the fresh, sweet, responsive 
face of the young girl she had seen at his side 
clear in memory, to help her own heart into pa- 
tience, to strengthen the resolution she had made 
to renounce even the sweet memory of his short 
love for his sake. 

In some ways there was not much of the heroic 
in Carina. She was too feminine, too loving and 
love-needing, to think of life without this man who 
had completely won her devotion ; and many hours 
of hopeless sorrow and bitter rebellion against 
fate alternated with moments of exalted renun- 
ciation in that dreary round so familiar to a 
woman’s heart. It was not quite so easy as it 
had been some years before, to throw off morbid 
fancies or longings. She wanted love more than 
anything else in life, and frankly confessed it to 
her own heart. 


242 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


The stopping of the carriage brought her back 
with a shock to the duty before her, and the new 
experiences which were to occupy all her time and 
strength for the days to come. Now, just now, 
she was to live for others. Her uncle’s cultured 
voice in her ear sent a thrill of pleasure through 
her. Surely it was not to be a task, this going 
into the wilds, but a new, wonderful joy! 

‘‘Here we are, Carina.” His face fairly shone 
as he settled her comfortably in the car and took 
his place once more beside her with a funny air 
of proprietorship which pleased and amused her. 
How beautiful it was, this “belonging” I How 
she had longed to be cared for, petted, spoiled, 
adored, even as a little child, when she had watched 
other children going into church with mothers who 
looked at them proudly ! Poor Carina ! from be- 
hind the door of heaven, only looking through a 
crack ! But now she was the center of some one’s 
vision. Books, candy, magazines, papers, fruit, 
flowers, he had hunted them all up in the in- 
credibly short time she had waited for his return, 
and looked like a veritable house-father, as he 
came back, his face bright and merry as a boy’s, 
his heart beating fast in anticipation of her 
pleasure in his thoughtfulness. So much to make 
up for, these two had ! 

Every tone of his voice was like music to her 
ear ; every motion one of grace and elegance. 
She had never seen a man quite like this one at 
home or abroad. All the charm of the South and 


MY FATHER 


243 

of Spain seemed to unite in him, and his presence, 
his nearness, acted upon her like a perfect poem, 
or a symphony in tone or color. She remem- 
bered now just how her heart had gone out to him, 
when, as a little child, she had laid her tearful 
face against his hand so white, and fine, and 
strong. Now he would never throw her olf again. 
She felt sure of that. He, too, had learned his 
lesson, walking through deep waters, that love 
was not to be had for the asking or to be lightly 
flung aside on the impulse of a careless moment. 

Twilight was settling down about a low bun- 
galow of rough hewn logs in a clearing near a 
lake when they at last drew up to its door, which 
a man servant, trained to silence and deference, 
opened noiselessly. 

“How is my brother, James.?” Paul DuCheyne 
asked in a voice deep with suppressed excitement. 

“Comfortable, sir, and expecting you and Miss 
DuCheyne. Up at once, sir.” 

Helping Carina off with her things as tenderly 
and deftly as a mother might have done, Paul Du- 
Cheyne drew her face up so that the waning sun 
struck across it. “May I kiss you, child.?” he 
asked. Carina put her arms about his neck 
again. “Tell me once more that I am forgiven, 
and that you can learn to love me.” 

“Can you not feel it.?” she replied softly. 

“How beautiful you are! somehow like — ” he 
could not finish the sentence, but still held her 
close, as though he could not quite make up his 


244 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


mind to relinquish her to the one waiting above 
with his greater claim. Then his arms dropped 
away, and he turned to the stairs. She followed, 
her heart beating wildly under the terrible strain 
of the moment, this greatest of all moments in 
her life, when she was to see her father for the 
first time. 

Her uncle had stepped into the low door, quite 
filling it with his generous bulk. A querulous, 
whining voice reached her ear. 

“Well, didn’t you bring her.? Where in the 
devil is she, then? What made you so long?” 

The low-raftered room was partially lighted by 
a pile of logs in a great stone fireplace, but Ca- 
rina could only dimly see a long, gaunt figure in 
a steamer chair by the window. Thin, bony 
hands moved restlessly over the rug upon his 
knees. 

“Well, here you are at last. Let’s see what 
you look like, my girl,” a voice called sharply. 

Carina went to his side and was about to take 
his hand in hers, but he drew it back and said 
peevishly, “Wait till you are warm, child. 
You’ve brought in a gale of chill air. Glad to 
see your dad, hey? Don’t look much as you 
thought I would. I’ll be bound. Never was a 
swell dude like Paul there.” And a thin, cackling 
laugh was followed by a dull cough which choked 
him for a few minutes and seemed to the fright- 
ened girl to take the last vestige of his strength. 

She stood looking sadly down into the burning 


MY FATHER 


245 


eyes, like great gleaming coals, and at the cheeks 
where a scarlet spot showed even in the half light. 
He was little more than skin and bones, though 
she could see that even now his spirit had not 
really given up the struggle for life, but still 
dominated the great skeleton which was its abid- 
ing place. Dissipation and sickness had not yet 
broken the will which through the long years had 
always chosen the wrong and defied nature and 
fate. She remembered his pathetic plea in the 
letter, and longed to show the tender sorrow for 
him which filled her heart; but his queer, brusque 
manner, so different from his brother’s, made it 
impossible for her to feel free or natural with him. 
She must leave matters to time and his initiative. 

After a while he wanted the light, and, when 
it was brought, asked Carina to sit on a stool near 
him, so that it would shine upon her face. Pres- 
ently his long, thin hand stole over into her lap 
and took one of the soft, shapely, warm hands 
lying there into his. An involuntary chill crept 
over the girl, but she sat perfectly still, and in a 
few minutes he was fast asleep. Then Carina 
knew that her presence was already a comfort in 
the lonely mountain home ; but that patience, and 
tenderness, and great self-control would be needed 
for the days which were probably to follow. 

She did not even admit to her heart in the still- 
ness of her own little room, how bitterly she had 
been disappointed in her reception, and how the 
rich, warm love she had been ready and eager to 


246 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


pour over her father had flowed back upon itself 
and almost stopped the beating of her tender 
heart. She would make him love her ; she would 
make herself vitally necessary to him; she would 
force her way through the outer wall of distrust, 
and peevish reserve. It was only his way. He 
had been alone so many, many years that he had 
forgotten how to give himself out to others. He 
should love her, love her, love her, and forget sor- 
row and even pain. It seemed so easy to her 
fresh young heart with its eager impulses. 

Within two days she had taken her place as 
daughter, and the hours slipped away as though 
she had always been there. Few words passed be- 
tween them. He was a silent man, grown so dur- 
ing the long, still nights and days when he was 
alone here, with only dumb things for companions. 
But soon a new gleam came into his eyes when 
Carina entered the room ; and, when she went 
out, a pleading look seemed to urge a speedy re- 
turn. She grew to understand their message, and 
accept it in lieu of tender words and caresses. 

As the weeks slipped away, a change came over 
him. With increasing bodily weakness he grew 
more querulous and fretful. Sometimes for hours 
together he would be rough and cruel in his lan- 
guage, impatient of delay, irritable almost be- 
yond endurance, when pain took hold of him. 
At such times Carina would sit by his side all 
night; soothing him as a mother does a fretful 
child; taking the light away, only to be ordered 


MY FATHER 


247 


roughly to bring it back again; opening up the 
fire on the hearth, only to be told to place the 
screen before it or cover it again with ashes ; 
shutting door and windows, only to open them 
again for the gasping man. The plump round 
curves left Carina’s cheeks, and their color faded. 

Her uncle had been obliged to go back to New 
York almost at once after her coming. When- 
ever he was able to get to them between engage- 
ments his coming was like new life, and brought 
sunshine which was sadly needed in the long, 
dreary winter months. He was the only one who 
could really dominate his brother. While he was 
with them Carina had a chance to rest, and would 
wander for hours, away from pain and morbid- 
ness, in the beautiful woods or along the lake. 

Now again the sweet stirring of young, green, 
growing things, filled her ears with soft music, and 
all her senses with delight ; brought the color 
back into cheeks and eyes, and the light elastic 
spring once again into her step. The uncle tried 
to insist upon having a second nurse sent up. It 
fretted him to see the ravages broken nights and 
worried days had made in Carina’s beauty. But 
she assured him she felt well and strong, and 
wanted to care for her father while he seemed glad 
to have her. 

He always appeared to be pleased, in his way, 
to see Paul, but called constantly for Carina, 
when she was out of the room. Paul urged him 
to be more considerate of the girl’s strength. 


248 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“She will be worn out, if you demand all of her 
time, Maurice. You don’t want to make your 
girl down sick, do you, old fellow.?^” 

“No;” he would answer wearily, and, turning 
his eyes toward the door would ask, “but where 
is she? I thought I heard her come in. Go see 
if you can’t hurry her up, won’t you?” 

And that was as far as Paul’s persuasion 
reached; scarcely to the outer ear. All he could 
really do to help her was to keep the house filled 
with flowers, books, and all the delicacies in or 
out of season his generous heart and well filled 
pocketbook could command. Scarcely a day 
passed when he was away from them that some 
reminder of his loving care and thoughtfulness 
did not reach them, even when they were shut in 
by the great snowdrifts of midwinter. 

One of the hardest trials Carina had to bear 
was her father’s terrible craving at times for 
drink, which often became intolerable, appar- 
ently; so that he would seem like an insane per- 
son. Then the hours of agony dragged along 
until it seemed to the girl that she could no 
longer bear the strain. When at last his rav- 
ings would cease, and he fell asleep, she would 
slide down upon the. skin rug before the fire, too 
tired even to go to her room, and sleep there like 
a little child. 

Again the beauty of summer was upon the 
woods. It seemed to Carina she had never known 
the old world could be so lovely. Now the house 


MY FATHER 


249 


could be open day and night. The air was like 
wine, and the trees full of singing birds. Sum- 
mer people began to come. Other cabins were 
opened and became alive with gay, careless, happy 
flitters. Tents dotted the lake shores. Light, 
dainty canoes skimmed across the waters back 
and forth, and pleasant people came in and out 
with kindly offices. Everyone was neighborly and 
thoughtful, seeming not to be able to do enough 
to help the lonely girl in her care and sorrow. 

Maurice had grown so weak that he kept his 
bed most of the time and slept many hours, or 
lay quiet, scarcely noticing anything that hap- 
pened about him. So Carina had time to rest. 

Three weeks more and her Uncle Paul’s season 
would close ! She was almost counting the hours. 
Each time he came some new beauty of his char- 
acter or charm in his personality showed itself 
to the girl, and she had come to love him with all 
the strength of her nature, which, though grown 
into full womanhood, had been restrained and re- 
pressed, with no chance to spend itself in the full 
richness of its warm demonstrativeness. 

As for him, it seemed as though new life had 
come to him, too. It all ‘‘meant” something now. 
There was a place to which he could fly from 
work and responsibility, a loving heart waiting 
at last, and eager, for his coming ; looking, watch- 
ing impatiently for him. What wonder his eye 
grew bright and his youth renewed itself under 
the strong impetus love had given to all his mo- 


250 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


tives ! He knew at last that life was worth living. 
He no longer had a bitter, cynical answer to this 
oft-mooted question among the hlase loungers at 
the club. “Life” now meant a woman who was 
winding her tendrils about his heartstrings, who 
understood and loved him. He said the last 
words tenderly, eyes filling with suspicious mois- 
ture which he carefully hid from indifferent com- 
rades. “ My joy,” he called her to himself, some- 
times “my heart’s joy,” wondering why his whole 
nature should be so stirred at the words after 
all the cold and barren years. In the night 
watches, when memories of his own young man- 
hood came over him with the awful racking power 
they have for hours when the soul is naked and 
the heart unguarded, he would cry out “0 God! 
wherever thou art, why was my child not spared 
to me? I should have loved her so tenderly!” 
And then cruel memories of this child would over- 
whelm him with shame. “I was not worthy of 
my own; now it comes home to me and I under- 
stand, I understand, at last!” He would cover 
his head in the darkness and, strong man as he 
was, shrink from the pitiless goadings of his 
newly awakened conscience. 

As the days passed they read and talked to- 
gether. Carina’s active brain had never seemed 
to her to rouse itself as under this new stimulus. 
Powers she never dreamed she possessed answered 
to him. New ambitions came, which yet seemed 
always to have been hers. The girl confided her 


MY FATHER 


S51 


longings; the man unfolded the rich gatherings 
of years of wide experience with men and things, 
and shared them with the eager young listener, 
who never grew tired of his tales of foreign lands, 
his wealth of ancient lore, broad culture gained at 
great cost in the weary, lonely hours of the life 
which he had tried to fill in very despair. 

Carina had the great privilege of drawing from 
an unusually rich nature stores few had ever had 
the skill, or taken the trouble, to bring to the 
light; and each enjoyed to the full the rare ‘‘give 
and take.” One day, when she had been out for 
a long walk in the woods, quiet now with their 
August satiety, just as she stepped upon the 
porch, a slight figure darted down the steps so 
quickly she could scarcely make out its outlines 
and disappeared among the trees. A chill struck 
to her heart. Surely she knew the strange side- 
long step ! It was the woman who had dogged her 
footsteps in the great city so long ago ! She ran 
quickly into the house, possessed by a fear which 
was almost certainty, that the woman had gone 
there for some sinister purpose. The thought 
froze her blood. She hurried upstairs to her 
father’s room. The nurse, who sat by the door, 
put his finger meaningly upon his lips with a 
smile. She asked him in a low whisper if he had 
seen anyone in the house while she was out. He 
answered that no one had been there. She hur- 
ried down to the kitchen, where a southern 
mammy reigned supreme. 


252 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“No, Missy; every one in dis yere house done 
gone asleep, I reckon, in this prospetrating 
weather. What yer want nohow, honey Yer 
looks mighty tuckered out. Got a misery in yer 
somewheres.? Tell old Sally.” 

“No”; Carina panted, “I thought I saw some- 
one going out. You are sure you didn’t hear 
anything.” 

“Reckon nothin’ could prowl ’round yere 
’thout my bearin’ it. Land a mercy! what yer 
s’pects 

At last she ventured to knock at her uncle’s 
door, after standing outside, hearing only her 
heart’s anxious beating for several moments. At 
first there was no answer. Frightened almost 
beyond thought, she knocked again ; then his voice 
answered, so changed it hardly seemed as though 
it could be his. “What is it, please? I am busy 
now?” 

“Uncle,” she stammered, “did — did you see 
someone here a few minutes ago?” Carina’s voice 
trembled as she held her breath for his answer. 
Would it never come? 

“Yes ; oh, yes ; there was — some one here,” the 
same strained voice replied. “It was all right. 
I’ll be with you presently. Supper ready?” 

Carina felt sure, despite his answer, that all 
was not right ; but she could not force his confi- 
dence. There was nothing to do but bide his 
time. She took a light wrap from the hall and 
sat down on the veranda steps, looking from time 


MY FATHER 


253 


to time fearfully into the darkening wood and 
straining her ears for some sound. Not being 
able to endure that, she went into the house 
again, lighted a lamp, and turned over the leaves 
of a new story. Still the awful solitude in the 
house, the stillness that seemed to her excited 
senses bursting with horrid mystery ! 

At last it was a comfort to hear her uncle 
spring to his feet and begin to pace restlessly up 
and down his room, like a caged tiger. Gradu- 
ally the steps grew lighter and slower, and at last 
stopped. She waited a little longer, hoping he 
would come now and explain what had happened ; 
but again all was silent. So she took up the 
lamp and, shading it with her hand, slipped past 
her father’s door to her own room and forced 
herself to begin a letter to Mrs. Otis. It was 
slow work. Again and again she laid down the 
pen, as some new conjecture would insist on ex- 
planation and in turn be put away as an impossi- 
ble hypothesis. The friends were now in Lon- 
don, living very quietly, while Mr. Otis worked in 
the Museum every pleasant day. Carina had not 
been able to write often since her return to Amer- 
ica; and besides, her life was so simple and un- 
eventful in the main, there had not seemed to be 
much material for frequent letters ; but those 
that reached her were full of tenderest regard 
and sympathy for the “shut-ins” and of all sorts 
of news from the outside world. Carina scanned 
each line for some allusion to Donald ; she could 


254 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


not have told why, except that she had so much 
time in which to think and remember each event 
of her short love story, which, despite her will, 
was all only too distinct and — dear. That, at 
least, while it lasted, was truly hers ; no one could 
take it from her. Then her cheeks would burn 
with shame at the weakness which allowed her to 
think of one who no longer thought of her. 

Only once Mrs. Otis wrote, “I read of your 
friend, Donaldo Donaldi, in an Italian paper re- 
cently. He has made a wide place for himself in 
the hearts of those music-loving people. I 
thought you would be proud to hear it. We shall 
some day be privileged to welcome him home 
again. Then I hope you will be successful in 
meeting him.” How little she knew or guessed 
of the truth! 

Carina was glad now she had been able to keep 
this secret of her heart. Many, many times it 
had sprung to her lips under her uncle’s tender- 
ness, but he never touched upon his own heart’s 
burdens, and she checked herself from confiding 
the abortive romance, in shy sensitiveness before 
this “man of the world” and exponent of the 
greatest masters of love tragedies. 

The nights grew chill and damp ; windows and 
doors had to be closed again; roaring logs upon 
the wide hearth brought a welcome warmth. 

Late in August Paul DuCheyne went back to 
his preparation for the coming season. He made 
light of his going, and promised to run up to them 


MY FATHER 


255 


very often ; but bis heart was sick when he looked 
into the girl’s drawn face and realized what the 
prospect of another long, dreary winter meant to 
her here amid the silent woods and in the op- 
pressive sick chamber. 

He tried in vain to get his brother to consent 
to go down to New York. With the hopefulness 
of his peculiar disease, he insisted he would soon 
be about again and quite himself by another 
spring. He had improved very much in the last 
three or four weeks, and moved slowly about the 
house now, even going downstairs sometimes and 
sitting for hours in the mild sunshine. 

In spite of all her faithfulness and loving de- 
votion, Carina never seemed really to get near her 
father in any comforting sense. Had it not been 
that, now and then, she caught the look of hun- 
ger and longing in his fading eyes, she would al- 
most have felt that all her self-sacrifice had been 
in vain ; that any servant might have cared for 
him and satisfied him just as well. 

Now that he was a little better, he wanted her 
to read aloud to him. It was a great relief, for 
he did not seem to care at all what she read, only 
the sound of her voice soothed him, apparently ; 
and so she could choose from the many books her 
uncle had sent the things which fed her own hun- 
ger. One evening, as she was reading in a low, 
monotonous tone, a queer, unusual sound startled 
her, and, springing to her father’s side, she saw 
that a change had come over him. In a moment 


256 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


he sat up, a strange, wild light in his eyes, and 
suddenly put his arms around her neck. Then he 
caught it in his hands with such a fierce grip she 
could scarcely breathe. She tried in vain to 
scream for help; got hold of his hands, and tried 
to tear them apart, to loosen the awful, strangling 
hold he had upon her throat. She felt a roaring 
in her ears. The room grew dark about her, and 
her young strength seemed to melt away. She 
made a frantic effort to get off the bed and drag 
him to the door ; do anything to get help. At 
last she got one hand upon his wrist in such a 
way that she made the fingers relax and unclasp. 
Once more she tried to make some one hear, but 
it seemed to her no sound came from her parched, 
swollen lips. Then she prayed, ‘‘O God, save 
me !” A quick step sounded on the stairs, and 
then her senses left her. 

The maniac had succeeded in getting his hand 
back to her throat, and when the frightened nurse 
reached the room the girl had fallen upon the 
floor in a dead faint, while her father was beating 
against her breast with both fists. 

The cook, hearing the fall, hurried after the 
nurse, and between them they managed to get the 
crazed creature tied, so that he could do no more 
harm. By that time the abnormal strength of 
his frenzy had died out, and they had no trouble 
in getting him back into the bed. 

It was a long time before Carina came to. 
Her throat had swollen so that she could hardly 


MY FATHER 


257 


breathe, and her chest was lame and sore. A few 
seconds more and she would certainly have been 
strangled. Long after she regained consciousness 
her breath came in shuddering gasps and moans. 
At last the faithful old mammy got her into bed 
and quieted enough so that she could hope to 
sleep, and then she stretched herself upon the rug 
and kept watch until morning. 

Carina would not let the members of the house- 
hold send word to her uncle of what had hap- 
pened. There seemed to be no return of the 
frenzy, but Carina never again was left alone with 
her father. 

After that awful night he grew rapidly weaker, 
and before the week was over Carina had to call 
up her uncle and tell him she thought the end 
had come. 

He reached her as quickly as he could, bring- 
ing courage to her soul for this new ordeal, a 
kind she had strangely enough never had to pass 
through before, but now, God be praised 1 need 
not meet alone. 

Her high-necked gown hid the ugly marks of 
that gruesome struggle with the departing spirit 
of her father, but a new tenderness seemed to 
draw the uncle nearer to her in the solemn hours 
they spent awaiting the end. She could not bear 
to tell him how nearly she had given her own life 
in loving ministration to the dying man. 

As they sat silent near him her father suddenly 
turned to Carina, and, in tones she had never 


258 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


heard in his voice before, said, “Maria, kiss me, 
dear.” Carina knelt down and took his head in 
her arms. “I meant to be a good man, Maria, 
and leave that beastly drink alone; I meant to. 
Did you ever want to drink, Maria? Do you 
know what it is to feel a devil inside of you that 
owns you, body and soul? Don’t ever drink, 
Maria. Promise me you never will, dear,” — his 
voice was full of exquisite, persuasive tenderness, 
— “promise me, — dear, — promise.” The words 
trailed off into an indistinct murmur and then 
into silence; only the sobbing of the two listeners 
broke the stillness. 

Evidently someone comforted him from the 
great unknown, for he spoke again. “Thank 
you,” he said. “Do you know what it is to be 
lonesome, dear? lonesome in the woods; no one 
but God near, and you afraid of Him? Afraid! 
Do you know what that means? No wife, no 
child 1 There was to be a child, wasn’t there ? 
And we are going to call her after — ” he stopped, 
groping uncertainly in his darkness. “No, I 
wasn’t good enough for that; was I, dear? 
Lonesome, horribly lonesome I” His head dropped 
heavily on Carina’s breast. Perhaps he w^as no 
longer “lonesome.” 

It was a long time before the two left weeping 
by the silent form could realize what had hap- 
pened. They were both unused to such scenes in 
real life, and were slow to understand its meaning 
for them. At last Paul DuCheyne drew Carina 


MY FATHER 


259 


back from her cramped position, and asked softly, 
“Dear, did you love him very much?” 

“I — I think I did. I was so sorry,” she replied 
in a whisper, hiding her face against his arm. 

Suddenly his voice changed in a strange way 
and grew harsh with emotion. “I have something 
to say to you, Carina ; he was not your father.” 

The girl moved back, stunned and speechless, 
all the color gone from her face. 

Paul DuCheyne rose unsteadily to his feet, 
drawing Carina with him. “It was his child that 
died that night.” 

He drew close to her again, then stopped at 
the look in her wide, staring eyes. 

“And I, who am I, then?” 

With a low cry of irrepressible longing he 
opened out his arms to her. 

“You? You are my father? You, you!” 

For answer he crushed her against his hungry 
heart. An awful joy came over Carina. There 
were no words to speak at this wonderful mo- 
ment. It was enough that this was her father, 
holding her safe and warm, kissing her hair and 
eyes and lips, drawing her again and again close 
against his heart, as though he feared she might 
slip away from him in this hour of recovery. 

“My joy!” he whispered. “All mine; no one 
to question the title or dispute my claim now.” 

At last he stooped down and stroked his broth- 
er’s hair. “Poor Maurice ! Somehow he lost it 
all. But he did not know this'" 


260 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“Thank God for that!” Carina whispered. “I 
am so glad I came to him! Do you think I was 
just a little comfort?” 

“Yes, dear, a great comfort. He was not used 
to expressing much, you know. Poor, lonely 
Maurice! You did all that any mortal could, 
sometimes more than I could quite bear to have 
you. Now we must make it all up to each other, 
dear. I am a very selfish, hungry father, and I 
have waited so long!” 

They stood a long time looking down into the 
weary face; then, for the first time, Carina bent 
over and kissed it. 


CHAPTER XVIII 


WHAT FOLLOWED 

They buried him near the lake, poor Maurice 
DuCheyne ! 

The day after the funeral Carina’s father told 
her how the strange little woman, stirred at last 
by a feeling other than fear or a half-animal in- 
stinct of self-protection, which had hitherto made 
her keep her secret from those to whom it be- 
longed, had found him out and confessed the sin 
she had committed against him so long ago. 

She had loved Maria with all the strength of 
her narrow, intense, half-developed nature ever 
since the latter had taken her part in their school 
days and shielded her from the jests of other pu- 
pils, who had openly laughed at “the village fool.” 
When the time came for Maria to marry and go 
away to a home of her own the poor girl begged 
on her knees to be taken as maid; then, when the 
baby came, her joy knew no bounds; and when it 
died, feeling blindly in her love and frantic ter- 
ror that Maria might die, too, if she knew the 
truth, with the shrewdness of her half-wit, seeing 
that the two babies were remarkably alike and 
both mothers too sick to have noticed them much, 
she resolved to change the little ones and tell 
261 


262 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Paul DuCheyne his child had died, not reasoning 
beyond the foolish, old-time trick which was the 
first thing suggested to her simple mind. 

After Maria died the woman was either afraid 
to tell the truth or decided to leave the tangle she 
had made for time to unravel. She took the child 
to Mrs. Dole, her sister-in-law, not even telling 
her the truth, simply the fact that she and it were 
to be well cared for. Mrs. Dole evidently soon 
decided it was a case in which she could take the 
necessary care of the child herself, and she sent 
the half-witted relation out into the world to find 
work, telling her never to show her face there 
again, as she was sure there was something wrong 
and would soon set the police on her track. Poor 
Sara, haunted by her secret and frightened by 
Mrs. Dole’s threats, gladly ran away. 

‘‘Years later she came back, only to find you 
gone, dear.” Her father had been telling the sad 
story with stumbling, halting words. It seemed 
almost more than he could endure to go again 
over the tale which had so unnerved him, as told 
by the grey, shrinking, trembling little creature, 
although, long before she was through with the 
story, he had almost forgotten her presence in the 
mad, wild rush of joy that the beautiful girl to 
whom he had been so strangely drawn was his 
own, his very own, bone of his bone, spirit of his 
spirit. 

Now he stopped talking and looked searchingly 
into the dear face to see if any shrinking from his 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


26 S 


part in it all was to be seen there; but she was 
only looking into his eyes with wide, open gaze, 
remembering, remembering. 

He kissed her softly and hurried on. ‘‘Long 
after that Sara saw you on the street and was so 
struck with your resemblance to me that she grew 
frightened again and haunted your steps until she 
gained courage to ask your name. When you 
gave it as ‘May Wilson’ she only half believed she 
had been mistaken, and she still watched you. 
Only when she saw you sail for Europe did she 
feel any degree of safety, and for a time go to 
work again. Through my valet she found out 
that you had come to us. Then, of course, she 
knew her suspicion was correct. Her conscience, 
I suppose it was, troubled her so that at last she 
overcame her fear of punishment and came 
to tell me the truth. Isn’t it strange that one 
will go on for years, enduring worse than hell it- 
self in his heart, rather than face some definite 
penalty.^ Poor old thing! How she ever found 
her way up here I cannot imagine. She looked 
as though she might have walked all the distance. 
Wasn’t it fortunate I was downstairs When I 
saw that she had something serious on her mind 
I got her up to my room as quietly and quickly 
as possible, and then heard her wonderful story. 
I was almost beside myself with joy at first, or 
until I remembered Maurice; then there was an 
awful conflict in my heart for a while.” 

He stopped and hid his face in his hands. Ca- 


264 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


rina waited, tears streaming from her own eyes. 

“I — I could not bring myself to deprive him of 
the pleasure I saw he took in his queer way in his 
possession of you. So at last I got the courage 
to — to wait, dear. It was only fair, wasn’t it.^”’ 

Carina looked up into her father’s face, her 
eyes large and deep with emotion. 

‘‘I think it was grand in you. I am proud that 
you could do such a thing.” She pressed his 
hand lovingly against her cheek. 

For a long time they sat in silence; only now 
and again Paul DuCheyne raised his head and 
kissed the fair hair, as if he must have new assur- 
ance of his child’s presence. There was so much 
to be said between them, and yet each loved the 
silences, which spoke more eloquently of perfect 
accord than words could have done. 

“Can you tell me about my mother?” Carina 
whispered at last. 

For answer Paul DuCheyne took a locket from 
his neck, opened it, and held a picture before her 
without a word. She looked eagerly at the deli- 
cate, refined features, alive in every line. The 
great black eyes looked out at her as though they 
would shine down into her very heart ; the abun- 
dant hair, which was as black as a raven’s wing, 
waved naturally, and was drawn back lightly and 
knotted on her neck. There was just the right 
place for a rose, which Carina thought must al- 
ways have been tucked there with careless grace. 
A bit of old English lace like a kerchief was 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


265 


folded about the round neck, which gleamed 
through the opening, and Carina could see the 
very chain she held in her hand against its curves. 
She was surely the sweet, dear, kind, gracious 
woman someone had called “cuddlesome” ; the 
kind to be loved and cared for, just as Carina 
knew her father must have worshiped this bit of 
a creature, since, despite all the opportunities 
he had enjoyed of knowing intimately charming, 
cultured women of genius, his heart had appar- 
ently been true to his first love, her mother. She 
kissed the sweet face and handed the locket back. 
Without a word her father took it tenderly and 
put it into its old place near his heart. 

What this devotion had meant to a warm- 
hearted, passionate, demonstrative man such as 
she had found her father to be, Carina well un- 
derstood. She looked at him as he sat near her, 
every line of his face softened by memories of the 
one woman who had been able to conquer the wild, 
unrestrained nature of the boy long ago. She 
had understood, and trusted, and loved him, just 
as he was, and with those powerful bands had 
bound him to herself for time and eternity. 

Carina was awed, as she realized what simple 
elements are most powerful with men’s hearts for 
evil or for good. Her frail little mother had 
been able to hold this virile man just because she 
had been true to her own straightforward nature, 
had scorned arts and wiles, and had trusted him. 

Carina could understand now, to some degree, 


S66 


LOVE'S CRUCIBLE 


at least, the bitterness he had felt toward herself, 
the agony of grief which had made him wrap 
himself away, even from the lonely child in the 
dreary boarding house; but she also understood 
the anguish of spirit that must have been his since 
he learned that this very child was his own. The 
sensitiveness of a nature which had made it pos- 
sible for him to become a great actor also made 
him capable of deepest suffering for his own mis- 
takes. 

When she told him the history of her own life, 
for a time she almost feared for his reason, the 
agony of his soul was so terrible. At first she 
tried to keep back part of the sad story, but, 
with a keen sense of what probably must have 
come into her life, he led her gently and tenderl}^ 
along until she had told him all. Carina intui- 
tively felt there could be no real happiness for 
them with each other, if anything were withheld ; 
but she tried to show him as nearly as possible 
the mental processes by which she had come the 
long, dreary road to a clear, peaceful understand- 
ing of all sides of the problem. 

At first he scorned her reasoning and raged 
like a wild thing at Dick, himself, all life. At 
last she made him promise to forgive Dick, as she 
herself had long since done; but even the daugh- 
ter knew little of the awful humiliation of the 
strong, proud man as he realized that he who had 
gloried in his power to control and move men 
had brought these fearful consequences upon a lit- 


WHAT FOLLOWED 267 

tie child through selfish lack of control over his 
own spirit. 

When she had finished her story the masterful 
man of the world was sobbing like a child. At 
last he roused himself, and, taking her face in his 
hands, as he so often did, looked long into her 
beautiful eyes. 

“Dear, you have fought your way to a height 
I never can reach. May I become worthy of such 
a child ! Good-night.” 

He hurried away, and Carina did not see him 
for long hours. Only his Maker knew what 
passed in his soul. 

A week after the funeral Carina and her father 
returned to New York City and took a suite of 
beautiful rooms in a quiet hotel, noted for its 
chaste elegance in contrast with the gorgeous ap- 
pointments of some of the newer houses. Paul 
DuCheyne had made his home there for years, 
when in the city. They were only to have each 
other for three weeks, a time all too short to sat- 
isfy their mutual hunger. Carina wanted to go 
out on the road with her father through the com- 
ing season, but he thought the strain and expos- 
ure would be too great after the long weeks of pa- 
tient, wearisome watching she had endured, and 
so they made the most of every moment to become 
better acquainted and learn all they could of the 
life and heart each of the other. 

Mr. and Mrs. Otis were soon to be at home once 
more. The house was to be opened, and it was 


S68 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


arranged that Carina should spend most of the 
winter with them. The friends were overjoyed at 
her great good fortune, and even more happy 
that it did not mean she was to be taken from 
their home and intimate circle. Paul DuCheyne 
had been very much attracted to Carina’s friends 
the few times he had met them; and when he 
learned how they had appreciated and loved his 
child and stood by her in the day when she was a 
stranger, and even more nobly when they knew 
her sad history, his heart went out in love and 
gratitude to them, and he was only too glad that 
Carina could still have the protection of their 
home and affection while he was obliged to be 
away from her. 

The girl drew a stool to his feet one Sunday 
evening. It was her favorite attitude, for then 
she could look up into his face and catch every 
shade of its ever-changing expression. 

Each day brought her fresh revelation of his 
unique personality. She could not grow used to 
the new relationship. It seemed all too marvel- 
ous that she was actually akin to this many-sided 
genius. 

Her father hardly recognized himself these 
days, either, for his nature seemed to blossom out 
in the atmosphere of her love and admiration as it 
had never done even before great, crowded houses 
which hung breathless upon his every word and 
act. He found himself expressing to this young 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


269 


girl thoughts and feelings he had not known were 
his. Somehow she appealed to all that was high- 
est and noblest in his nature, and he let the ten- 
derness he had often acted and assumed during 
the long years flow out now, spontaneous in its ex- 
pression. At last the real emotion was his ! The 
freshness of his capacity for joy and simple re- 
ceiving was a great surprise to the man who had 
long thought of himself as seared and hard be- 
yond redemption. Now the desire came upon him 
with overwhelming force to he all that he saw she 
fancied he was, not to play up to her ideal of him, 
but to become it, pure, true, strong, brave, and 
unselfish. He had acted all these characteristics 
in turn, and thought he felt them to a degree 
pulsing in his own mind and soul; for although 
he left nothing of the perfection of his art to the 
impulse of the moment or a passing mood, he was 
one who could only do supreme justice to a part 
after he felt he had become thoroughly akin for 
the time with the character in question. There 
was a difference now. The sweet, simple, un- 
questioning faith his young wife had placed in 
him long, long ago he saw mirrored again in the 
eyes of his child. All the dross of the years, the 
dust and soil of life, seemed to be shaken from his 
spirit. He felt himself again the man he had been 
in his youth, when Constance Nesbit had given 
him her hand and all her pure, young heart. ‘T 
love you, Paul,” she had said, “and trust you ab- 


S70 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


solutely with my life.” He had felt then that 
nothing could ever make him fall below the ideal 
she had created in him. 

Alas ! how all that had changed when she left 
him and he no longer had the prop of her trust 
to lean upon! But here was her child, this fear- 
less young woman who had dared fate, and, with 
resolute purpose and strong will, carved out a 
place for herself in which she could stand with 
erect head and free heart, independent this mo- 
ment even of his powerful influence! What kind 
of a man must he be to assume to “protect and 
care” for her.? Surely, he told himself, only just 
the man his young wife had believed him to be, not 
the great, rich actor, but the man. As he looked 
this evening into Carina’s eyes he registered a 
vow that he would be that man. After all, he 
thought, what has life brought to us, however rich 
and splendid the opportunities it may have given, 
if it have put out the little flame of the divine 
with which we all started.? What else really mat- 
ters ? Atheism, agnosticism ! what do they 
amount to in the hour when a man comes face to 
face with his naked soul.? Then he knows that 
only the faith of a little child matters, and he 
must get it back. 

“You look so very serious, father dear. What 
are you thinking about?” Carina asked after they 
had sat in silence for a long time, while he seemed 
to be studying her face or looking through it and 
beyond. 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


271 


“Of your mother, dear. It has been many 
years since I have talked of her to anyone.” Ca- 
rina took one of his fine, white hands and laid her 
head upon it. 

“She was the daughter of a clergyman away up 
in Northern New York, a girl who had been 
reared in absolute simplicity. She knew nothing 
of life, as you and I know it. Only the purest 
and sweetest thoughts and imaginings had ever 
visited her mind and heart. She must have won- 
dered what the “sin” her father preached about 
was. No stain of the world had touched her 
white soul. She was like one of her own roses 
which had grown up under loving care, under 
smiling, warming suns and refreshing showers. 
She loved all flowers, and birds, and animals. She 
understood them, and they her. 

“The first time I saw her she was standing by 
the gate, a rose in her hair.” There was a si- 
lence for a while. Carina did not stir. “A deep, 
rich, red rose it was. I stopped in the middle 
of the street. I could not go by her. I loved 
her instantly and completely, and seemed to read 
all her mind and heart in that moment. I knew 
very little of women. My memory of my own 
mother was of a gay, splendid woman, always 
richly gowned, going somewhere with my father, 
seldom coming in to see us or seeming to care 
about children. I knew nothing of love for her, 
but I loved this sweet child at once and forever. 
‘I would rather have that rose,’ I said, ‘than all 


272 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


the riches of the world, if you will give it to me.’ 
She looked at me in surprise a moment, then with 
the utmost naivete and directness, said, ‘Why, 
there are so many roses, I am glad you like them. 
Come in and I will get you more.’ It was the 
simple, unaffected hospitality of a child. She did 
not question the propriety of my request or of 
her own invitation. She did not even know there 
was anything unusual or surprising about it all, 
and it was just so during all our acquaintance, 
which soon bloomed into love on both sides. Her 
father and mother were very sorry when they 
learned that she had given her heart to a strolling 
actor. We were in sad disrepute in those days, 
and I am afraid often with good cause. We were 
an erratic, uncertain class, and our wits and 
graces did not always bring in bread and butter 
when we had an abiding place. The father said 
to me frankly : T do not understand why she could 
not have been content with some good, settled lad 
here, sir. I would rather see her dead than un- 
happy ; but she loves you, and I dare not tell her 
of the awful risk I fear she runs.’ 

‘T felt sorry for them all, in a way, but only 
smiled at their fears. We loved each other, and 
nothing else seemed to me to matter, or to her. 
My thoughts, I fear, in those days were not ‘long, 
long thoughts,’ but only reached to the joy of 
the moment. I did not know much about God, 
but it was His image in this girl I loved, and she 
was sacred to me. 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


27S 


“We were very, very poor much of the time, 
and had to knock about from pillar to post, often 
not knowing where we should find a place in 
which to sleep or food to eat; but, dear, I be- 
lieve I can truthfully say that I never 
brought your mother’s heart a pang or a re- 
gret. We loved each other, and were satisfied. 
When she was taken away from me I lost my 
moorings.” 

After a while he continued: “I can see now and 
then something of her in you, an expression or a 
motion, but not much. It was my features that 
were always reflected in the mirror of her heart, 
and she gave them to you. Only your eyes are 
like hers in color, though in shape and expression 
like my own. Her heart, too, lives again in you ; 
I can see it more and more, my precious, precious 
child; and you could have no other inheritance 
that would be, has already been, worth so much 
to you, dear.” 

“If I may only always be a joy and comfort 
to you, as she was, my father !” Carina whispered 
as she kissed him good-night. 

Her heart was too full for many words, but 
hour after hour she lay wide awake, thinking of 
his life and hers, and wondering more and more 
at the strange way by which they had come to 
each other at last. It was something more than 
“chance” which had been about them, and for the 
second time in her untutored life she slipped out 
of bed and fell upon her knees. 


274 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Two days later a telegram announced that the 
Otises were in the outer harbor and would soon 
be at home. Carina and her father were just 
starting out for a shopping expedition. There 
had to be a good many of them these days ; for 
Paul DuCheyne loved beauty in any form, and 
took great pleasure in finding dainty and lovely 
things for his child. She found to her delight 
that he had the best of taste, too; not extreme 
and garish, as was the case with so many of his 
associates. He was thoroughly artistic, and she 
was quite willing to leave details with him. They 
were like two happy children, mousing around the 
stores hours at a time, looking into windows, ram- 
bling through the parks, and studying the mu- 
seum. 

“If we take a carriage, dear, at once, we can 
probably reach the wharf before they do. They 
will hardly expect us on such short notice; so we 
shall have the pleasure of a surprise, and I like 
that, don’t you.?” 

Carina laughed gleefully. “Our life these days 
seems to be a series of surprises, doesn’t it? But 
we have so much to make up, haven’t we?” Her 
voice grew a little wistful. 

They had stepped into a carriage. He leaned 
over and kissed her tenderly. “How much we 
have lived since we came from the wharf that 
other day, dear.” 

“Yes,” she answered. 

It was a strange meeting. Each heart was 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


275 


much too full for words, but they were not needed 
after all. Each understood that this was no com- 
mon greeting, but a sacred recognition of fail- 
ures, defeats, and victories ; and eyes looked into 
other eyes, which answered, “We understand, for 
we are all human.” 

A tall gentleman had been standing near, but 
looking out to sea, during these pregnant mo- 
ments. Mr. Otis turned to him and said, “I have 
brought another of Carina’s friends home to her. 
May I introduce Mr. Donald MacDonald to you, 
Mr. DuCheyne.f”’ 

Carina, who had been talking with Mrs. Otis, 
turned at the words of formal introduction, all 
the rich color dying away from her cheeks, only 
to rush back with such force that she could 
hardly see the face which was turned toward hers 
now, while a well-known voice was saying, “I hope 
I am welcome.” 

She was too astonished to speak at first, but 
managed to extend her hand and stammer some 
half-incoherent words of greeting. She was see- 
ing with strained, unbelieving eyes a green 
meadow, where a brook ran babbling along in 
cool indifference to human hearts torn with hor- 
rid jealousy. She was following a singer, whose 
instrument, responsive to the touch of a master 
spirit, had seemed to sing to her hungry heart of 
love long suppressed, love which must still be re- 
pressed until the great day of its fulfilment had 
come. She was watching a tall, manly form 


276 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


walking through the shadows and patches 
of green and gold, bending with loving, tender 
chivalry toward a slight, girlish figure, whose 
eyes looked into his with answering ardor. She 
found herself saying in a constrained, unnatural 
voice, “We did not know you were coming to 
America this fall. Your wife — you have left her 
behind this time.?^” Then the mist before her eyes 
cleared. The others had gone ahead to look after 
baggage, and they two were alone. She looked up 
into the beloved face she had tried so faithfully, 
so conscientiously, so unsuccessfully to forget. 
His eyes, whose every expression she had remem- 
bered only too well, were fixed upon her face with 
amazement and reproach. 

“I don’t understand, Carina, cara mia. What 
do you mean.? Tell me. My wife.? Did you 
not believe in me then.? in my manhood? What is 
it? Who has lied to you, or — ” He stopped 
and looked at her face, which was white and drawn 
now. “You have not believed in my love, after 
all?” 

“I saw you — ^with her,” she stammered, “and 
afterward they said she had become your wife ; 
and, as you had made no sign in all the months, 
years, I — ” she ended weakly, the deep color flood- 
ing her face again, as a glad song took the place 
of mourning in her heart. 

“Look at me, Carina,” he commanded; but she 
could not meet the lovelight in his eyes. 

She grew faint with the sudden reaction, and 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


m 

staggered against the railing. Donald put out 
his arm to catch her, but she drew herself up 
quickly as her father came in sight again, and 
soon they were all about her, laughing and talk- 
ing in the gladness of the hour. 

She walked down the gangway like one intoxi- 
cated. It seemed as though she could no longer 
bear the tension, the mad riot in her veins. He 
had in truth fulfilled the conditions she had put 
upon him and come back after the long, hard 
years of work and waiting, just as he had said 
he should! His success, his secured future, his 
worldwide fame, had not made him forget her! 
It was all there in his eyes, the sweet message she 
had thought never to read again. Much as she 
longed to, she dared not look at him for fear she 
should lose all her self-control. 

Once she caught a strange expression in her 
father’s eyes as he glanced from her face to that 
of the artist, his own grown grave and question- 
ing. She thought he seemed to have become sud- 
denly old, that his step had lost its spring, and she 
noticed that he unconsciously took Mr. Otis’s 
arm, as though he felt the need of support. 

Mrs. Otis was talking all the time at her side in 
a bright, chatty way, which needed no answering ; 
but suddenly changed her tone when strangers 
separated them from the others for a moment. 

“We found him at last in London, dear, where 
he gave a wonderful concert. The King and 
Queen were there and spoke to him, and invited 


278 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


him to Buckingham Palace. We were so proud 
of him, and knew you would have been, too. We 
introduced ourselves as friends of yours. You 
should have seen his face, Carina. He had not 
seemed to care much for the ovation, but, 
when we named you, it was as though he had 
received a powerful electric shock ; all the 
weariness and apathy vanished and his great eyes 
blazed. 

“ ‘You know her.? Where is she.?’ and he took 
my hands as though he would wring them oflp. 
So I told him of your father and the great happi- 
ness that had come into your life. When I had 
an opportunity I told him how terribly disap- 
pointed you had been in Leipzig and that I knew 
you would be very glad to see him. His face 
was transformed: ‘Then I will go to her.’ I 
told him we were just sailing for America, and 
suggested that he come with us. Was I too bold, 
dear.? Did I do right?” 

“O Mrs. Otis, dear friend! I cannot tell. I 
cannot think. I don’t seem to know anything, 
only that — that — It is all so wonderful, and I 
am afraid.” 

“Child, you have earned a right to your hap- 
piness. Don’t trifle with your future and his ; 
don’t juggle with an overstrained sense of your 
unworthiness. I believe you have a right to your 
love for each other. Surely, if One could say, ‘As 
far as the East is from the West’ — you know the 
rest of that divine limit.” 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


279 


‘‘But the world, dear friend, does not judge in 
that way,” Carina answered. 

“I am very curious,” a gay voice interrupted, 
“to know what could make two women walk de- 
liberately through a puddle and up against a 
post; Paris, politics, or plain, unvarnished gos- 
sip ? Answer me that honestly.” It was her 
father’s voice. There was a merry rejoinder and 
promises of speedy visits, and the party sepa- 
rated. Donald lingered a little wistfully, but had 
no opportunity to speak with Carina alone. Her 
father’s voice rang cold and formal, she thought, 
as he expressed his interest in having met the art- 
ist, of whom he had heard so much, and then per- 
functorily asked him to call at his convenience. 
Carina leaned out of the carriage, when she saw 
the forlorn, disappointed look in Donald’s face, 
and added, “May we not see you very soon? 
There are so many questions to ask, when there is 
time.” 

The gladness in his eyes sent the bright color 
over her face and neck. Her father looked at her 
with the same inscrutable expression she had no- 
ticed before, and her own eyes fell. 

Keen as he ordinarily was to what was going 
on about him, her father had been too absorbed 
in his new-found joy and his own plans for the 
future to suspect that Carina felt other than 
deep affection and gratitude for the friends who 
had cared for her so kindly in the country home. 
He had not given Donald as a man, least of all as 


280 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


a lover, a second thought. He had noticed his 
daughter’s evident excitement at the unexpected 
meeting with surprise, and read the man’s secret 
at once in his eyes. A sharp pang of resentment 
and jealousy shot through his own heart. Who 
was this stranger who seemed to come between 
him and his newly found treasure.?’ A cold fear 
came over him. What if Carina loved this man 
and had not cared to tell her father of what must 
be her dearest secret, the first thing she would 
naturally have confided to him.?’ What if he had 
come across the sea to take her away out of his 
life.?’ 

Paul DuCheyne looked at his daughter with 
this new fear in his mind. How lovely she was 1 
What wonder if some one had learned it long be- 
fore, while he — He ground his teeth. can- 
not give her up to anyone. I will not — ” He 
almost spoke the words aloud. 

Carina, disturbed at his silence and the gray , 
look in his face, leaned over and kissed his cheek. 

It was almost cold to her touch, but he patted 
her hand and smiled into the dark, questioning 
eyes. 

“You were very glad to see the old friends 
again, weren’t you.?’ ‘Old friends are best,’ they 
say. Then he relapsed into silence, and Carina 
busied herself with the happiest thoughts that can 
come to a woman. 

Donald had been resting for six weeks in the 


WHAT FOLLOWED 


281 


mountains and had regained flesh and color. He 
carried his head erect again and squared his 
shoulders as Carina had so often seen him do at 
the farm when some glad thought was making 
melody within him. She would not have been 
surprised to hear him whistle gaily as he turned 
away from the carriage. She knew her few 
words had made him content to wait a little 
longer for his reward, if need be ; that a great joy 
was pulsing through his veins. His boyish, 
springing step, his happy smile, and a certain 
new dignity said plainly that he was “at home” 
again, master of himself as well as of his art, 
“and,” she whispered, hardly daring to frame the 
words, “of me.” Then her face grew suddenly 
pale. “If—” 

When she started to her room that night her 
father called her back, and, taking both her 
hands, held her away so that he could the better 
look into the tell-tale face that was futilely try- 
ing to conceal her secret. 

“He looks like a man'^ do you love him, child .f*” 

“More than life, father.” 

“Why did you not tell me about this, dear.?” 

“I — I thought there was nothing to tell.” 

“Then you donH quite trust him.?” 

“As I do you, father,” she answered, hiding her 
hot face against his breast. 

“Was there some misunderstanding, and you 
have had to suffer for this, too.?” 

“I — I saw him with a young German girl — 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


282 

once, and afterward heard that he had married 
her.” 

“You poor dear! Your cup has certainly been 
full of sorrow. Why did you not write to him 
and find out if the report were true, if you loved 
him?” 

“O father! I could not.” 

“No, of course you could not.” He threw his 
arms around her and held her as though he meant 
that no harm should ever come to her again. 
Once or twice he put her away, only to draw her 
close again. She knew the tempest that was rag- 
ing in him; that the selfishness which had been 
dominant so many years was reasserting itself 
with almost overwhelming power ; that he was not 
yet able to find strength to face this new sacrifice 
demanded of him. They had only just found 
each other ; what wonder that his whole nature re- 
volted? It seemed to Carina that she could not 
ask this of him. Although Donald had so large 
a claim to her allegiance, ought she not to stay 
with this long-lost father? He must have read 
the half-formed resolution in her speaking eyes. 

“No, dear,” he said at last very gently, “no; 
he has the first claim; and, after all, I shall only 
gain a son of whom I am sure I shall be very 
proud.” 

He tried to speak gaily and to smile into her 
eyes, which were wide and dark with their trouble ; 
and she knew he had won the battle. 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE MACDONALDS 

The next morning, as early as he dared, Don- 
ald came to the hotel and sent up his card. 

“I want to talk with him a while first, dear,” 
her father said when Carina showed him the card. 
“Can you be patient a little longer 

The hot color rushed over the girl’s face. 
“Yes, indeed,” she said. 

“May I tell you I never saw you so beautiful 
as to-day.? I am glad you chose that gown; it is 
most becoming. Confess now that it took a long 
time to decide the great question. I thought I 
heard you up at four o’clock this morning. Of 
course, now I know I must have been mistaken, for 
you certainly did not lose your beauty sleep. Do 
you appreciate what a rare privilege you enjoy.? 
So few mortals are really beautiful, — I mean in 
form and feature, — and I always think those who 
are have a right to enjoy it as well as the rest of 
us.” 

“Thank you, father, I certainly come honestly 
by it; look there,” and Carina turned her father 
around until he faced the great mirror. 

“Pshaw ! an old, gray-headed man !” 

“Pshaw!” Carina mimicked his tone perfectly. 

283 


284 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


“A great, splendid, handsome, vain, spoiled man !” 

“Will he like me for a father-in-law, think?” 

“Yes, if his muscles are stronger than yours.” 
And Carina reached up and pulled the curly pow 
with a saucy moue. “Hurry, Daddy dear. 
Don’t keep him waiting.” 

“Don’t keep you waiting, you mean. Oh, I’m 
all in a tremble ! I’m so afraid he won’t like me.” 

With an inimitable tremor and an agonized ex- 
pression on his face, her father hurried out of the 
room, and Carina stole a shy glance at her radi- 
ant self in the glass. Would he think she had 
grown old? she wondered. 

Two long hours passed before she heard their 
voices in the hall near the door. Her face grew 
whiter and whiter as her father came in, leading 
Donald by the hand. 

“It is all right ; he has accepted me, dear,” he 
said in a bantering tone. Then his voice changed 
and took the marvelously deep, rich tone she knew 
so well, vibrating with intense feeling, this time 
not assumed, but coming from a full heart. 
“Donald, this is the most precious possession I 
have in all the world. It costs me more than you 
can possibly know to give her up to you, man ; 
but I believe I can trust her with you, if she will 
have you.” He tried to smile, but his face was 
gray with the effort as he went quickly out and 
closed the door. 

Donald opened his arms to her. “Carina mia, 
come to me. I have waited so long! Come.” 


THE MACDONALDS 


285 


But Carina covered her face with her hands 
and cowered away from him, trembling all over 
with a sudden fear. 

“No, no, Donald, I cannot come; there is so 
much that must be told first, so very much. You 
do not know, and when you do perhaps it will all 
— all seem different ; perhaps you won’t — ” 

Donald came closer and crushed the sobbing 
girl in his hungry arms. “My precious, precious 
darling, there is nothing to tell. Your father 
has told me all your hard, sad history, beloved, 
and I feel unworthy to approach you. But look 
up at me, sweetheart. I cannot live without you 
any longer. I am a man, strong, virile, and lov- 
ing, and I have sacrificed in every way. I have 
kept myself away from you year after year, when 
my heart was almost bursting with loneliness and 
hunger for you, all to prove my love and worthi- 
ness. I thought myself a noble martyr, but, 
dear, it all seems as nothing beside the brave, he- 
roic fight you have made all alone, abandoned, for- 
saken, working at any common task, anything so 
as to live an honest, true life. O Carina mia!” 

He put her gently into a chair and knelt by her 
side, taking her hands in his. “I know you love 
me. Don’t put any more imaginary barriers be- 
tween us. Tell me that you will marry me now, 
right away, all unworthy though I am. Do you 
doubt my love.'’ What was it you said about my 
being married.?’ I was true to you, absolutely 
true, dear, though there was one who loved me. 


286 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


God knows, too well. But I was not to blame, 
and I had the strength to withstand her pleading. 
Tell me, Carina, tell me, have I deceived myself 
all this time.'^” 

Carina had been listening with closed eyes, cold 
and heat running over her body as he poured out 
his love. It was impossible to withstand his ten- 
der, passionate pleading any longer. The last 
doubt had passed from her heart, and every nerve 
in her was crying a response to his hunger. 

“Oh, Donald, Donald!” she cried, throwing her 
arms around his neck, “don’t talk of worthiness 
or unworthiness ; just love me, love me I It is like 
heaven to hear your voice, to feel the warmth and 
tenderness of you, to have you near at last. O 
Donald, at last!” 

When, several hours later, he said, “I must go 
to my mother now, dear,” the color left her face 
and her eyes grew suddenly lusterless. “I had 
forgotten, Donald. Your mother, what will she 
say.?” 

Donald’s frank face clouded a little. “I — I do 
not know. She — I am sure she loves you, Ca- 
rina ; she must ; but what does it really matter, 
dear.?” and he tried to take her into his arms 
again. 

She pushed him away gently and spoke very 
quietly, though he could see the tension in her 
face. “I have no illusions about life any longer, 
dear heart, and I know only too well how the 
world judges in these matters. Very few are 


THE MACDONALDS 


^87 


large and brave enough to deal as these dear 
friends of mine have done, as you are ready to do. 
O Donald! it will break my heart if she is un- 
willing or unhappy about it. What if she will 
not receive me as your wife.?^ And Jean, too I 
Did you know it was I she once picked up in the 
street and took to her home, a perfect stranger? 
And when she knows — I dare not face her, know- 
ing.” 

Donald’s face grew grave. “I do not know 
how any woman’s heart could condemn you, dear.” 

“But they will, they do, even the best of them ; 
even if one have done her best — to atone.” 

“Well, then, we will find our joy alone.” Don- 
ald paced the floor, his face black with indigna- 
tion. “What does it matter? Are they wiser 
in their righteousness than the Master? Let 
them go their way, then. We have each other, 
and that is enough.” 

“But it matters to me. I cannot cut you off 
from your own. I could not be happy so.” 

A low moan broke from the man’s tortured 
heart. “Carina, you will drive me insane. Am I 
not more to you than all the world besides?” 

“Yes,” she whispered, “but go to them, dear; 
go to them, and tell all ; and God pity us !” 

Donald turned his face homeward with a sink- 
ing heart. He knew his proud, stem mother so 
well, with her strong, unbending will and in- 
flexible conscience, the high ideals which left no 
room for failures in herself or others; her creed 


S88 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


that who would, could. He would tell her all the 
truth; and, if she failed him, — He did not finish 
the sentence. A great bitterness against a world 
which was too unjust to forgive a woman or lend 
her a hand, if it were a personal matter, while it 
constantly condoned the same fault in a man, 
overcame him; and the thought that the woman 
he loved might find his own mother’s door closed 
in her face, in spite of her great battle, because 
she loved Aim, drove the blood from his heart and 
made him stagger blindly along the road. 

He would give her a fair chance, he would not 
judge her before she had faced the case. The 
hope and courage of youth returned. He threw 
up his head and squared his shoulders once more, 
as the old home came in sight, all the familiar 
outlines, even his Italian garden, looking just as 
he had left them. 

Everything had a bright glad air of welcome. 
He lifted his head again to the glorious sky. All 
would be well. There she was in the doorway, his 
own mother! a little whiter, a little more bowed, 
perhaps, but the same pride, the same dauntless 
spirit, shone in her eyes 1 In a moment more she 
was in his arms. 

It was not Janet MacDonald’s way to use many 
words, but Donald would find her eyes following 
his every movement or lingering lovingly on his 
face. She saw with her keen perceptions what 
her son had gained abroad in address and self- 
poise. She felt that he had become a master 


THE MACDONALDS 289 

workman who needed no longer to be ashamed ; 
that he had grown conscious of power over men 
and circumstances ; that he already stood among 
the great of the world, feeling no need of apology. 
It spoke in every line of his grave, dignified face 
and his quiet, but masterful movements. Her boy 
had grown up and away from her. He could 
never again bow to her will, if it opposed his own. 

Donald, for the first time in his life, felt in 
her a certain air of restraint, a yielding to his 
wishes and judgment. It gave him a queer sen- 
sation, at first, as though the changed conditions 
were not quite right and natural; then came a 
new feeling on his side, equally queer, that of pro- 
tection and guardianship, and it was very sweet, 
too, he decided. Now he must always care and 
plan for her. He must lift all burdens from her 
shoulders. He seemed to know that she would 
like it, that she had been looking forward to his 
home-coming, because she needed him at last. 

He was very tender to her, and sat a long 
time after prayers, telling of his life abroad, and 
the honors which had been showered upon him. 
He would not tell her this first night what he was 
about to do. To-morrow would be soon enough. 

Among the bits of local news she told him that 
John Lane had come home just three weeks before 
his mother died, and had done all he could to make 
her last days happy and comfortable; to undo, 
to some little extent, the terrible wrong he had 
put upon her. She had died in his arms, and, be- 


290 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


fore she closed her eyes for the last time, had 
made him promise not to go back to the city, but 
to stay at the old home and resume the care of 
it, because his father had loved the place. He 
was very poor, apparently, and had to work hard 
to restore what had nearly gone to rack and ruin 
in the years of his sinful life. 

“I have never seen or spoken with him, and I 
do not care to. He drives by the house some- 
times.” She was looking into her son’s face as 
she spoke. Did she pause just an instant, as 
though waiting for him to say something.^ He 
was not sure. 

A cold chill struck his heart as he remembered 
what he had to ask his mother to condone. He 
tried to break away and, pleading weariness, get 
to his room; but she held his hand. 

“Don’t hurry, Donald. It has been so long. 
Tell me of your own plans. You will settle down 
in this country while I live, won’t you?” 

He could not remember that she had ever before 
in her life spoken to him in a pleading tone. It 
touched him inexpressibly. There had always 
before been a command or assertion that he had 
not dared or cared to contradict — but once. 

“I cannot tell about that mother, but I shall 
certainly plan if possible to be in this country 
most of the time. I shall have to make New 
York City my headquarters for the present, but 
you know we artists cannot stay long in one 
place. I shall run up to see you very often 


THE MACDONALDS 


291 


though, so that you will not feel that I am really 
away at all, I hope ; and, when you grow tired of 
the responsibility of farm life, we will make a 
home for you with us.” 

Janet MacDonald drew back from her son, the 
old familiar, domineering look stealing over her 
face. 

“ ‘We’.^ Have you — have you married, Don- 
ald.? You had not mentioned — a wife."' 

Janet’s face grew white and set. She had not 
remembered this possibility, that she might have 
to share her boy with someone else. He had for- 
gotten that early episode, he had not spoken of 
love, of a woman, in all the years. His art must 
certainly have been his mistress. She and his 
art would surely be enough for his life, she had 
thought. 

The moment had forced itself upon him. Don- 
ald braced himself to tell all his story, and Janet 
braced herself to hear it. It was wonderful to see 
the likeness to each other in the two tense faces. 
He began at the beginning of Carina’s story, not 
mentioning her name, but also not omitting one 
detail, excepting the real name of Dick Corwin. 
The stillness in the room was awful. Janet had 
not once interrupted, but her lips had set them- 
selves in a thin, hard line. The clock struck 
eight, then nine and ten, as he told the story of 
a woman’s fight to recover her lost soul. When 
he had finished he said, ‘‘Mother, this is the woman 
I love and who loves me ; she has promised to be 


292 LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 

my wife, when I return to the city, next week. 
Carina DuCheyne is one of the noblest women I 
have ever known, and I am humbly proud to have 
won her love. Mother — 

Janet rose to her feet and stood a moment as 
if to gather strength; then, turning toward the 
door, said coldly, “Good night, Donald.” 

“But, mother,” he cried, his voice trembling 
with agony, “haven’t you one word to say to 
me.'^ one word of welcome for her.?” 

His mother moved across the room as though 
groping her way, and as she stepped through the 
door said, “Na; you seem to have made your 
choice.” 

He heard her dragging one foot wearily after 
the other up the stair ; each step was like a funeral 
knell. Would she never reach her room.? 

He went out into the night and called aloud 
to the stars for strength; then stumbled on and 
on to the old willow tree by the foolish, babbling 
brook. Presently he heard something moving 
slowly through the long grass, and a cold nose 
was thrust between his clenched hands. 

“Why, old fellow! poor old fellow! Did you 
leave your warm bed and drag yourself away out 
here for me.? Dear old boy! did you know there 
was trouble.? It’s about her. Hector, about her.” 

When Janet MacDonald reached her room, she 
stretched out her long arms as in an appeal, and 
then fell heavily across her bed. For a long time 
she lay there, sometimes perfectly still, as though 


293 


THE MACDONALDS 

asleep or exhausted, then moaning like a sick 
child and turning her head restlessly from side 
to side. At last she slipped down upon her knees 
by the old bed, and buried her head in the pillow. 

“My God ! my Father !” she moaned, “that I 
should not be able to forgive! I have called my- 
self a Christian all these years, and I am still so 
self-righteous that I cannot forgive this woman!” 

Donald stole on tiptoe up the stair and listened 
a moment at his mother’s door. All was quiet; 
perhaps she had fallen asleep. 

“Poor Mother ! poor Carina !” he whispered. 

At last Janet rose, straightened her tall form, 
and squared her shoulders with a motion singu- 
larly like Donald’s. She opened the door softly 
and crept to her boy’s room. It was open, as in 
the old days. Almost as though she were afraid 
of losing her courage she hurried across the room 
to his bed. Donald turned his head instantly and 
reached out his hand to her. 

She bent over and kissed him. “Tell her to 
come, Donald ; I want to see her.” 

Before he could speak a word, she was gone, 
as softly as she had come. 

The late moon had reached Janet’s window and 
peered cautiously in, throwing a long shaft of 
soft, pale light across the white head and mak- 
ing the hair gleam like silver. Then it stole 
down and touched the old face. How the hard, 
stern lines softened! How young and sweet it 


294 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


looked. Were the thin lips a little red and smil- 
ing, as when she had stolen softly into her little 
childrens’ room years ago, on Christmas Eve, 
with some pleasant surprise for the morrow? 
“What wonders I can work,” murmured the fool- 
ish, ignorant old moon, as it hid behind a tree. 

In the middle of the morning, after Donald left 
for his home, there was a knock at Carina’s bed- 
room door. She opened it, and saw her little 
French maid standing there with a puzzled look 
on her pretty face. 

“Pardon Mees ! One Madame, zee will zee you. 
Zee zay zee have no one card, and zee will geev 
no names. I do not know what I zal zay to her. 
Zee have one leetle baby also. I zink zee ees one 
lady. Mademoiselle, you will come? yes?” 

Going into the reception room, Carina saw a 
little woman who was just depositing a baby on 
the floor, but sprang up and caught both her 
hands in a warm grasp. 

“Now don’t dare say you can’t remember me. 
I know I’m greatly improved, but not past recog- 
nition, surely.” The little, black-eyed woman 
looked saucily up into Carina’s surprised face. 

The voice, rather than the features, seemed 
very familiar. “O Miss MacDonald,” Carina 
cried, “how glad I am to see you !” 

“ ^Miss MacDonald,’ indeed! With that?” and 
the jolly round little woman shook with laughter. 

“ ‘That’ is certainly a very surprising and 


THE MACDONALDS 


295 


lovely adjunct, and I beg your pardon, Mrs. — ?” 

“Now waitl” Jean interrupted merrily. “I 
think you had better sit down before I properly 
introduce myself. Are you ready.? Look pleas- 
ant—” 

“Frau Professor Doctor von Weide-Schatz- 
lein.” 

“Dear me [ how imposing !” Carina laughed 
heartily. “And the adjunct.?” 

“Even worse,” Jean retorted. “Donald! 
Think of the combination! It would be enough 
to close a safe hermetically!” 

“How will he ever live up to it.? Poor little, 
darling treasure!” cried Carina, picking up the 
beautiful little creature and hugging him raptur- 
ously. 

“The darling — the beauty! Oh — ” 

The door opened suddenly and a voice called, 
“Where are you, dear.?” and the most splendid 
man Jean had ever seen came behind Carina and 
put his arms around her. 

“What have we here.?” 

“This is Donald’s sister. Daddy, and her baby. 
You know, I have told you how — how, when I was 
a stranger, she — took me in.?” Carina’s voice 
broke. “I well remember,” said Paul DuCheyne, 
softly, and taking Jean’s hand, he kissed it rever- 
ently. 

“You are very, very welcome to our home. 
Come here, little man,” he said, turning to the 
crowing baby to hide his emotion ; and in a 


296 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


second the boy was astride his broad shoulders, 
his chubby hands clutching the curly gray locks 
for safety, as the two made a triumphal journey 
around the room. A moment later the horse 
developed into an elephant on all fours, with the 
cord of a dressing robe in its mouth, the tassels 
used none too lightly as a whip, while the delighted 
rider shouted with glee and the elephant trum- 
peted in response. 

When at last a mcm with tousled hair and glow- 
ing face stood before them again, breathless and 
happy, he gasped, “I have played many parts in 
my time, but never one more completely to my 
satisfaction. Ladies, do I hear applause 

“Indeed you do. Daddy dear. You looked the 
part to perfection.” 

Instantly the mobile face and voice changed. 
“You would hardly have expected to hear my 
daughter call me a beast so soon, would you, 
Madame.^” he said, turning to Jean with a tragic 
expression. “I pray you do not expose our pri- 
vate life to the public.” The agony in his face 
and voice were enough to bring tears. Carina 
had snatched the baby from the “Monster,” and 
was cuddling the astonished creature in her neck. 

“Pardon us, dear friend, and don’t think we are 
quite crazy,” she cried, “but it is a wonderful 
treat for us to get hold of a real live baby. Isn’t 
it. Daddy.?” 

“ ‘Now do tell us all about ‘it,’ and ‘Him,’ and 
everything. When did you do it? Donald didn’t 


THE MACDONALDS 


297 


hint such a thing. But then, we — I am afraid 
we only talked about — ourselves.” And Carina 
hid her blushing face behind the baby. 

Jean came over, and, in her impulsive way, 
kissed Carina’s eyes and lips. “First let me tell 
you how glad I am about you and Donald. I am 
so proud and happy over it,” she added gently. 
The quick tears sprang to Carina’s eyes while 
Jean rattled on: “You see, I just had to marry 
Herr von Weide-Schatzlein, poor dear! because, — 
well, because I was so ashamed of him, and so 
mortified to have him go in and out of our apart- 
ment, — I mean our boarding-house,^ — buttons off, 
necktie under one ear or entirely forgotten, cuffs 
hanging in frazzles, two or three pairs of spec- 
tacles on his massive brow, his knees shining, and 
a hole in his stockings that would show above his 
shoes, which were sometimes actually tied with 
white strings. Then, when the maid told me he 
generally forgot to eat his lunch, when he got to 
work on those translations, — well, it got on my 
nerves, and finally I simply had to fix his gloves 
one morning, when the weather was down to zero 
and both thumbs were out. When I took them to 
his room, it looked so terribly untidy and uncom- 
fortable I had to straighten it out a bit, and we 
got to talking about books, and then he brought 
me some he liked and I liked them, too,” — Jean 
had hurried on until she was out of breath and 
Paul DuCheyne was holding his sides, aching with 
laughter. “And at last, in conclusion, finally, to 


S98 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


end the trouble, I had to marry him, he was so 
lonesome. I am sorry to say he has begun to neg- 
lect his work, since Donald came, and I may have 
to take in washing for our living.” 

“Oh, no, madame ! I assure you it will not come 
to that, for I am persuaded the stage has dis- 
covered a brilliant star in you.” And Paul Du- 
Cheyne sprang to his feet and made Jean a pro- 
found courtesy. 

A happier, jollier, rosier, sweeter little woman 
it would have been hard to find than “Madam von 
W.-S.,” as Carina soon called her for brevity’s 
sake. And the quaint, quiet, scholarly husband 
fully appreciated her, as Carina found to her 
great delight. 

It was decided to have a very quiet wedding; 
Carina knew so few she cared to invite, while her 
father felt he could hardly venture out into his 
own wide acquaintanceship and make distinctions. 
So this notice was in the paper a week later ! 

‘‘Carina DnCheyne, the only child of Paul Law- 
rence DuCheyne, the well known actor, and Donaldo 
Donaldi, the noted violinist and composer, were mar- 
ried privately at St. Mary’s, Tuesday, at 12 M.” 

Simple as the notice was, it excited the greatest 
interest in many circles; but all efforts of the 
public and press to get further information were 
fruitless. This was too sacred an hour for the 


THE MACDONALDS 


299 


world’s curiosity. It belonged only to the small 
circle of tried friends who had walked through the 
night together into the beautiful fulfillment of the 
new day. 

As they sat together the last evening before the 
wedding, alone, Carina said to her father, “Daddy, 
there is one thing I want very much.” 

“Name it, dear, to the half of my kingdom. I 
cannot conceive of anything within reason that I 
would deny you.” 

“I know that,” Carina answered, squeezing his 
arm affectionately. “This is something very seri- 
ous that would make me feel as though the last 
leaf had been turned in my past history. Daddy.” 

Her father took her face between his hands in 
the dear old way. “And that is — 

“Donald tells me — ^Dick is very poor; he is 
trying to carry on the home farm, because his 
mother asked him to. I suspect it is an old, 
worn-out place. He — he was very good to me 
once, in his way. Daddy.” Her father shud- 
dered. “Listen, Daddy dear. He sent me to 
school for three years, and never denied me any- 
thing I wanted, when I was a girl. You know I 
don’t need any dowry ; Donald and I are going to 
be so rich. Just think! he is to have $100,000 
just for this one season. That will be a great 
fortune to us. Will you please send a check, — a” 
— she hesitated an instant — “a big one, to Dick.? 
and then I shall feel — free, 0 Daddy! free — at 
last !” 


300 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


Her father was silent for a long time. Then 
he said, “I see, dear child, what you mean. Shall 
we make it out right now.^^ Get my check book 
from the desk there.” 

Carina looked over his shoulder as he wrote, 
and gasped a little as he folded the bit of paper 
and handed it to her. “Is that all right.?” 

“O Daddy!” was all she could answer. 

“I will address it, so that it will appear to come 
from me? He will understand?” 

“Yes,” she whispered. 

“Now, put on your hat and take it to the box 
yourself. It will do you good.” 

Not one word was ever spoken between them 
about the matter again, and, when Dick received 
the check, he understood. 

Janet MacDonald had not felt that she wanted 
to come to the marriage. She had been on the 
farm so long, she had grown timid and unused to 
city ways. She would await their coming in the 
home, she wrote. 

When Donald and his wife reached the little 
station, by some mistake there was no team in 
waiting. 

“0 Donald ! let’s walk across the meadow,” Ca- 
rina cried. And so, hand in hand, they made 
their way over the well known path. When they 
reached the old willow, Donald stopped and held 
out his arms, while inexpressible love shone in 
his eyes. 


THE MACDONALDS 


301 


“My precious love, my wife! All I am I owe 
to your strength of purpose, to your far-seeing 
wisdom. How can I ever repay you? How rich 
I am!” 

“But not so rich as I, dear heart, with a father 
and a husband, when I was so alone. But I am 
selfish. I need one thing more.” 

“Come dear.” 

When they reached the house, Janet MacDon- 
ald was not there. 

“She expected you on a later train, and has 
gone to one of the neighbors on an errand,” Jean 
explained. 

After working many years “undiscovered,” as 
his wife expressed it. Professor von Weide-Schatz- 
lein had recently been given a place in Columbia 
University, and, on the strength of the new honor 
and larger income, Jean had gone up to the 
homestead for a little vacation, and to help en- 
tertain “our distinguished guests,” as she called 
the bridal couple. She was very good to look at, 
as she stood in the doorway holding her baby boy ; 
but Carina’s face fell at her message. 

“Run right up to ‘The Chamber of Peace’ and 
take off your things. You know the way. 
Mother will be here soon.” 

And so Carina once more went up the familiar 
stair, opened the white door softly, and closed it 
behind her. For a moment she was almost over- 
come with rushing memories. “How beautiful it 
is I” she whispered. “Nothing has been changed. 


302 


LOVE’S CRUCIBLE 


All so still, and pure, and white. White ‘as 
wool,’ ” she added reverently. 

A soft knock sounded on the door, and, without 
waiting for permission, Janet MacDonald came 
in. 

Blue eyes once again looked for an instant into 
brown, and then Janet opened her arms wide. 

“My daughter! my beautiful daughter!” she 
said, and kissed her once again in “The Chamber 
of Peace.” 


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